


Echoes of Mortis

by wreckageofstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (This is Star Wars after all), AU, Action/Adventure, Anakin is tryiNG, Drama, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I mean maybe its less of a fix-it and more of a 'ruin it differently', Palpatine is a dick face, post-Mortis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckageofstars/pseuds/wreckageofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Mortis Arc AU. In a universe where the Father failed to take away Anakin's vision of the future, the Hero With No Fear struggles with the knowledge of what he will become and the knowledge of who, exactly, is responsible. Drastic steps are taken and in the process things go a little bit...sideways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I'm really excited about this! I've been lurking around fanfictiony places for years without ever really writing any - it's about time, really. That, and I've reached new and drastic levels of college procrastination (speaking of which, there's a chance this will not be updated as regularly as I'd like (it is definitely a work in progress) - apologies in advance, but real life GPA takes precedence). I am grade A certified Star Wars trash, but also not perfect, so if you note any blatant errors (grammatical or canon-wise) please let me know. Enjoy and thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.  
> \- W

 

The journey home to Coruscant was long and silent. Anakin had kept the details of their disappearance vague in the hope that Rex wouldn't pry too closely, and it appeared to have worked, the crinkle in the clone commander's brow as he had ended the communication notwithstanding.

That brow crinkle had nothing on the concerned frown currently being levelled at Anakin's back by Obi-Wan Kenobi. When he had been younger and (alright, perhaps only slightly) less impudent, that frown had sometimes even been enough to stop him in his tracks, that unique mix of frustration and worry that was so Obi-Wan doing what no other Master in the Jedi Order could do. Get Anakin Skywalker to _listen_.

Add to that the feeling of his own Padawan's crystalline eyes boring into his from behind the seat, imploring, and it was almost enough for him to -

The glove of his mechanical hand clenched the arm of the seat, hard enough to make the synthleather squeak. He knew well enough now where explosions of that kind would lead him. Where his _anger_ would. His hand twitched again at the memory (vision? How could something be a memory when it hadn't happened yet? _Wouldn't happen_ -) of fingers grasping at the air, of the Force bending to his will, the pliable muscle and tendon of a human throat under his hand -

 ' _Beware your heart.'_ He understood now. And he could never let it happen. And, he thought, heart thumping loudly, traitorously in his chest, he could never let them know. Know that they were sitting in the company of a _monster_.

Mental shields up, face carefully blank, he loosened his hand from the arm of the chair. He turned to Ahsoka, whose blue eyes were open wide, lips parted uncertainly. They were all reeling, still, though he thought they had all done an excellent job of hiding it from Rex.

“Why don't you get some rest, Snips,” he suggested, watched as her shoulders sank in subtle relief. “I'll steer us back home.”

Maybe he wasn't the only one who wanted to avoid talking about what had just happened. He wasn't the only one who had Fallen, he remembered suddenly, taking a moment now to look at his apprentice more closely. She didn't look all that worse for wear, at least for having died (and wasn't that a trauma for another day, he wasn't sure how he could bear putting her in danger ever again) but there were shadows carved under her eyes, and a slight tremor in her upper arms. He knew well enough what it felt like, to have everything you thought you knew about yourself ripped away so violently. Exhausting, violating. Everything he had never wanted for his young apprentice.

“Sure,” she replied easily, too flippant to be genuine. “Wake me up for the landing, Master? I want time to strap myself in, if you're the one driving.” She gave a small smile, a hint of pointed, shiny teeth to show she was alright before sliding off the chair and slipping soundlessly into the cabin.

The silence grew heavy in her wake. His old Master wasn't nearly so easy to send away, and Anakin could only give the illusion of being occupied for so long. He gave a final, resigned push of a button to set their coordinates home and send them into hyperspace and glanced at his Master from the side, the relaxing hum of the engines helping to calm the still frantic thrum of his heart. His flesh hand was shaking slightly now, the impact of the past few days (well, moments from Rex's perspective, he supposed) finally taking their toll. It was new for them, he thought, to be woken slowly, peacefully, from their adventures. Too often it seemed as though they simply roared from one conflict to the next, with no time to slow down and actually process anything.

 He tightened his fist to stop the shaking. _Kriff_. Maybe that was a good thing.

Obi-Wan was doing that thing he did where he pretended he wasn't examining him. No doubt the shaking hadn't gone unnoticed, though Anakin was doing his best to keep his inner turmoil shielded from his Master.

 

_Keep him from realizing what you are._

 

“Well,” he said flippantly, realizing belatedly where Ahsoka had probably picked up that particular trait. “Another mission, another mystery for the Council to figure out. What are we going to tell them, anyway?”

 If Obi-Wan noticed he was being distracted (and Anakin was positive he did and was simply _allowing_ it. Any other day that fact might have angered him, but today he pushed it aside, that cold thread of _monster, monster_ burning in his bones and scaring the anger away) he didn't let on, simply raised an eyebrow and turned his face to the window. The cool glow of hyperspace settled above the hollows of his face.

 “I suppose we'll simply tell them the truth. As best as we can recall it,” he said ruefully. “In truth I -”

 He stopped, lowering his head in thought, or recollection. His brow creased.

 “I can't be sure of all that I saw. It goes beyond what I thought possible.”

 There was a hint of something wistful in his voice. Anakin caught a warm and impossible flash of what felt like Master Qui-Gon's signature through their bond before it was snatched away, shuttered behind Obi-Wan's well-maintained shields.

 “In any case,” Obi-Wan straightened in his seat, “I suggest we keep our story simple, for the sake of accountability. No matter what exactly transpired on Mortis,” he glanced at Anakin briefly, hesitating, “what the Father said about the Sith may have an impact on this war. The Council will certainly find it interesting.”

 “So, you're not going to tell them I crashed the ship?”

 “ _Ana_ -kin.”

 Anakin smiled briefly, a flash of warmth dulling the fierce cold in his chest for just a moment, rubbing out the chill of the expressionless mask in his visions that he felt sure hid his own face. And the cold laugh of that hooded figure, the one that must have been their elusive Sith lord. It was strange, but the figure had felt so familiar.

  _It couldn't be_.

 Anakin took a slow, shallow breath, mindful of his Master's ever worried glance. He would deal with it all in time. They would return to Coruscant and he would make sure the future he had seen would never come to pass. He would just have to be...good. A good teacher to Ahsoka. A good Jedi. However much it hurt to suck down his feelings, his anger, do as he was told with all the quiet, resigned obedience he had been forced into as a child on Tatooine -

 Well. If that was the price he had to pay to keep from Falling, to keep everyone he loved alive and safe (from _him_ ) then he would pay it ten times over.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of my favourite drama queen continue. Trying hard to balance Anakin's tendency to be a bit self-centered (ok, maybe more than a bit, Force love you trash son) with his love for other people. It's an interesting character trait and one of the things I love about him. I do think at this point in his life he's nowhere near reached that irrational, unable to be reasoned with point that he reaches in ROTS (The Clone Wars really did a lot for his characterization in that respect I think). I'm playing with the idea that a large enough shock, like the realization of what he will become, might be enough to shake him off of the road he's heading on. Though I have a suspicion that just repressing all of that anger might not be the best way to go about it. I guess we'll have to see! Thanks so much for reading, and enjoy!  
> \- W

To say that the Jedi Council was pleased to find that not only was Obi-Wan and Anakin's recount of events frustratingly vague, it was also wholly unable to be confirmed, would have been a gross understatement. Anakin squirmed slightly under the heavy, thoughtful gaze of Master Yoda. To this day it was difficult for him to reconcile the small body with the powerful sense he had of Master Yoda in the Force. And even more difficult to actually _hide_ anything from him.

Well, Anakin thought with a slight internal grimace, at least it wasn't exactly odd for him to be uncomfortable in front of the Jedi Council. He'd never exactly made a secret of his general disregard for them. It wasn't that he didn't respect the Council – they'd taken him in, after all (even if it had taken a fair amount of convincing on Master Qui-Gon's part), and some part of him still believed that the Jedi were a force for good in the universe, that they were the mythical warriors he'd so idolized as a child. But the reality of life in the Jedi Order had left a bitter taste in his mouth from the beginning. It was all too clear now that the Jedi Order was as much a political organization as it was a force for justice, often bogged down by bureaucratic nonsense and at the mercy of political direction. Their involvement in the war alone was proof of that, though Anakin would be the first to admit that he himself was often caught up in the militaristic fervour that the Chancellor seemed so eager to instill. It was comforting to deal in absolutes, to know exactly whose side you were on. On the bridge of a battleship, distinctions like that were easy. It was only back on the ground, under the thumb of the Council that Anakin ever had any doubts about the rightness of what he was doing, the cause he was fighting for. In his early days at the Temple Anakin had lost count of the number of times he'd asked Obi-Wan when they might go back to Tatooine to free the rest of the slaves. Obi-Wan had always replied (with just a hint of frustrated sadness, now that Anakin thought about it. It was funny, the things you didn't pick up on as a kid) that the Jedi had to keep in mind what would do the _most_ good, help the _most_ people. That they couldn't save everyone.

Obi-Wan had always been a better Jedi than him.

 What Anakin understood now was that the slaves of Tatooine were politically unimportant, considered insignificant in the face of the Sith, in the face of galactic conflict. The Jedi were compassionate to their plight, as they were compassionate to the plight of every unfortunate being in the galaxy, but they would do nothing to interfere. And so they'd kept him from freeing his childhood friends, just as they'd kept him from his mother (and that thought melted the ice in his heart just a little, stoked that krayt dragon fire he'd managed to keep a lid on the entire way back to Coruscant, brought back to life the satisfying feel of sand person under blade - _stop it_ ).

Obi-Wan glanced at him briefly, sharply. _Kriff_. His shields, for all he was trying to keep them strong and solid (or up at all, for kriff's sake) were a mess. The Force still felt slightly clumsy in his grasp, away from the pureness of Mortis, after his brief venture into the Dark Side. A venture that Obi-Wan had neglected to mention to the Council, thank the all-forgiving Force. He had a sinking feeling that lately it wouldn't take much for the Council to simply throw him out on the streets of Coruscant the minute he became too much of an inconvenience – any hint of the Dark Side, no matter how it had been forced on him, might prove to be the straw that broke the tauntaun's back. (And if they caught even a hint of what he'd done – what he would _become_ – well. Getting thrown out on the streets would be the least of his problems. _It's no less than you deserve_ , something whispered.) Although he felt sure, given the number of weighted looks he had been receiving lately, that Obi-Wan would take full advantage of his calculated omission to guilt Anakin into actually talking about it with him. He wasn't called the Negotiator for nothing, after all.

Master Yoda drew his thoughts back to the present, back to the Council.

“Heard of Mortis, I have,” he said lightly, dispelling slightly the tension that had gathered in the room following their report. “And felt the tremors in the Force, did we all.”

“Your disappearance from the sensors was also confirmed,” Master Windu said, though his face was (as always, at least when he was looking at Anakin) more than a little suspicious. “Though we haven't asked your padawan for her version of events yet.”

Anakin had managed to keep Ahsoka from the proceedings, sending her off to the medical wing when they'd arrived with instructions to get herself checked out. She had seemed fine (“Do I _look_ like I need the medical wing Skyguy?”), if a little exhausted, but she had also been _dead_ for more than a few moments. He wasn't taking any chances.

 _Note to self, go over pre-established version of events with Ahsoka_ before _the Council gets to her._

“If you think that's necessary,” Obi-Wan said, implying in that particular way of his that it was most probably not. “Though we were both under the impression that she remembers very little.”

“Leave your padawan to rest, we will,” Master Yoda said. “And you as well. Dismissed, you are.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan bowed respectfully and turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Master Windu said, a faint hint of distaste colouring his voice. “The Chancellor has requested a report on these events as well. He asked that you find the time to meet with him personally. The Council would ask that you keep your report to him suitably vague,” and here his expression grew dry, as he likely found their report to the Council already skirting the edges of what was considered an acceptable lack of detail, “as knowledge of Mortis is not well-known outside of the Jedi Order. Such events might become...misunderstood, should they become public.”

Right. Well, that was reasonable. Most citizens of the galaxy either held both the Jedi and the Force in awe (certainly more common among those who had seen them in action) or saw the entire Order as a bunch of fanatical practitioners of some hokey religion. Either way, too much knowledge could only be a bad thing. And the Chancellor, for all of his good intentions, frequently used Anakin and Obi-Wan's mission reports as PR fodder, always eager to inflate the public's opinion of the Jedi and in the process often omitting or overstating certain...facts. It had never bothered Anakin before. He understood the purpose of PR, and he wasn't one to say no to the extra attention. But something about this felt different. Mortis had been personal, and it had nothing to do with the war. Maybe, with enough convincing, he could persuade the Chancellor that nothing important had happened and avoid a meeting.

Avoid a meeting and avoid confronting that deep suspicion coiled in his chest, that the hooded figure he'd seen in his vision, the Sith lord they were all looking for -

It just couldn't be. _It was impossible_. The very notion was ridiculous, like something out of a low-budget holomovie. He was being paranoid.

 _Just because you're being paranoid doesn't mean you're not right_ , a voice that often emerged from that fiery, krayt dragon pit in his heart whispered. _But it's been fairly established that your judgement is far from as sound as you'd like to think_ , the part of his mind (he had half a thought to wonder if it was his conscience – it would _figure_ ) that tended to sound more like Obi-Wan whispered in answer.

He huffed a sigh and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he and Obi-Wan left the council chamber, grateful to be gone, fingers itching for something to tinker with. Obi-Wan sometimes remarked jokingly that he could always tell when his former apprentice had something on his mind because their shared quarters would be taken over by piles of disassembled droids. The way the past few days had gone he had half a mind to take apart an entire _star cruiser._ Maybe later he would go to the landing bay and see if anything needed repairs. Ahsoka could help him, and they could acknowledge and work through the events of the past few days the same way they always did – by emphatically not talking about them.

Maybe this episode could be put behind them once and for all. The future he had seen – he could prevent it, now, though the vision had become...fuzzier, in the time since they'd left Mortis. Maybe it was for the best. All he had to do was be a model Jedi (well, starting from now. It wasn't like he could go back in time and prevent himself from marrying Padme), 'beware his heart', and avoid choking anyone with the Force. For the rest of his life.

(With the possible exception of Rush Clovis, he amended. Even a model Jedi wasn't perfect.)

Though, speaking of model Jedi -

“Master, why didn't we tell the Council everything?” he asked quietly as they headed out of the Temple, wondering belatedly, irrationally, if his asking would somehow make Obi-Wan change his mind. His master didn't like disobeying the Council, however indirectly. Part of Anakin was sorry to have made him feel obligated to omit part of their report for his sake.

Obi-Wan paused, tilting his head slightly as they reached the Temple entrance. The sunlight streaming through the door caught in his hair and set it ablaze. Anakin waited.

“Our experience on Mortis has no precedence, as far as I know. The things that happened while we were there – they are unexplainable, Anakin. And, while I can't speak for you, my memory of them is decidedly uncertain. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing that matters is that we all escaped, alive.” He met Anakin's eyes seriously. “There's no judgement, Anakin. What happened to you and Ahsoka wasn't your fault.”

Anakin felt his jaw clench, and glanced away. _Beware your heart_. Shame, fear – why did they always make him feel so _angry_? His master was just trying to help. He had gone out of his way to protect Anakin from his own mistakes, and not just this time. Ever since he had been a child. Even the talking things out – it wasn't the Jedi way, but Obi-Wan had always seemed to know that just 'releasing his emotions' into the Force wouldn't work with his wayward apprentice. How many times had Anakin in turn forced his master to confront things he'd better work through himself, the proper way? How much had that cost him, all these years?

 _Monster. You don't deserve him_.

He didn't deserve Obi-Wan. He wasn't – maybe he never had been – the Jedi he should have been. But he could do right by Obi-Wan now, save him from the heartbreak of the future. He just had to _be good_. He swallowed and unclenched his jaw, removed his gaze from the ground.

“Thank you, Master,” he said simply, years worth of embarrassment colouring his cheeks slightly as Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. He had obviously been expecting an outburst.

“I. Well, that is – you're welcome, my young padawan,” Obi-Wan said, so taken aback that he fell into old habits, and wasn't that enough to make Anakin feel like the apprentice of the year?

“Not your padawan,” Anakin remarked lightly, against the churn of far belated guilt in his stomach. “But I won't say anything if you won't, my Master.”

“Force help me,” Obi-Wan said good-naturedly as they exited the Temple. “Come along, then. Let's give this report to the Chancellor so I can go home and have some tea. We can check on Ahsoka as well. It's been a long day.”

Long enough that Anakin took a moment to wonder if 'tea' was meant to be a euphemism for 'challenging Commander Cody to see who could down the most shots of Corellian brandy in a row without passing out', but in light of his new attitude refrained from wondering out loud. With great difficulty.

“I'm sure we won't be long, Master,” Anakin said instead as they approached a speeder. Obi-Wan took the driver's seat with a pointed glare that muted any of Anakin's protests. “It's not exactly much of a story if we can hardly remember it, and there's no way of proving it actually happened.”

Obi-Wan raised a dubious eyebrow. “I certainly hope so.”

 

*

 

The Senate offices were just as busy and ornate as always, with little seeming to have changed since their last visit. Anakin, doing his best to ignore the cold lump of suspicion that hadn't managed to leave his throat, kept an eye out for Padmé, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her, but she didn't appear on their lengthy journey upwards to the Chancellor's office. He wondered if she was even on-planet. It was yet another unfortunate result of the war, that their schedules so often conflicted. It had been weeks since he'd last held her in his arms, and he was all the worse for it. He needed her like he needed the air to breathe. Of all that he had seen of the future, her death ( _at his hands_? It had been so unclear and he was too afraid to think too much on it, too afraid of what the truth might tell him) was the most unforgivable, the most unacceptable. And by his hand or not, her death had felt unmistakeably his fault. He wasn't sure yet what the right thing to do was, to protect her. He needed her safe, but he also _needed her_. And she would be the first to spit in the face of destiny or prophecy, especially if he tried to use it as an excuse to – to _separate_ them.

He could picture the discussion now, and the outcome wasn't pretty.

If Obi-Wan noticed his wandering eye, he didn't say anything, though Anakin caught a familiar hint of what he sometimes thought might be worry through their bond as they approached their destination. His stomach twisted. Yet another burden for his master to shoulder because of him, though he had never confirmed exactly how much his master knew about his...extracurricular activities. It had always seemed safer that way, for the both of them. They had plausible deniability down to a well-practiced performance art. One that they would, hopefully, never have to use.

Struck as always by the dark opulence of the decor, Anakin followed one of the Chancellor's aides into his office, hiding a smirk at Obi-Wan's poorly disguised distaste. Going within ten feet of anything to do with politics with Obi-Wan at your side was, as always, a lesson in subtle facial expression.

“The Chancellor will see you now,” the aide announced, stepping aside as they entered the chamber. The Chancellor, cutting a regal silhouette against the backdrop of Coruscant's skyline, turned to greet them, eyes twinkling with curiosity and warmth.

But -

Anakin shook his head slightly to dispel the irrational quell of fear those eyes wrought. It was the _Chancellor_ , for kriff's sake. He had been wrong, thankfully, as per the new usual.

“Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker, welcome back,” the Chancellor said warmly, beckoning them closer.

“It's good to be back, Chancellor,” Anakin said, still not quite at ease. There was something -

The Chancellor eyed him sharply, something brief but predatory crossing his face. It was only there for a moment, before the affable crinkle returned to his eyes. By the time conversation resumed Anakin had almost convinced himself that he'd imagined it.

“Well, you must tell me of your latest adventure, my dear boy. I receive the reports, but I do so love hearing it firsthand. Forgive an old man his eccentricities.” The Chancellor smiled disarmingly.

“Um,” Anakin began eloquently, unable to get past the faint disquiet he'd been feeling since entering the office. Obi-Wan took over, after subtly jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow 'concernedly'. ( _Once a padawan, always a padawan_ , some part of Anakin's brain that hadn't been overtaken by the overwhelming sense of _wrong_ in the room muttered).

“I'm afraid there's not much to tell, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said apologetically. “We were sent out to investigate an ancient Jedi distress signal intercepted by the Council. Once there, we believe that we landed on the planet Mortis, an ancient place strong in the Force. Not much is known about it, and our recollection of events are...uncertain,” he concluded, glancing at Anakin, who nodded.

“We, um, don't remember much about what happened on planet,” he added, swallowing nervously. He clenched his mechanical hand into a fist, hidden behind his back. Why was he so kriffing nervous? It was the Chancellor's office. He'd been here a thousand times before. “But we think we encountered physical manifestations of the Force. There was a – conflict.”

“Really? How fascinating,” the Chancellor remarked, his eyes narrowing in what could have been interest. “But how did you escape this,” he waved a hand, “conflict?”

“That's where our memory becomes the most unclear,” Obi-Wan said, seeming to finally pick up on the weird tension in the room, however subtly. His brow crinkled slightly. “We awoke on our ship, mere moments after we allegedly disappeared, and the planetoid was gone. We haven't yet found an explanation.”

“Incredible, truly,” the Chancellor said, stepping forward. His robes swished elegantly around his feet. “Well, I'm simply glad you all survived the encounter.” His teeth glinted in the waning sunlight. “Tell me, what do you remember of this conflict you speak of? The outcome?”

Anakin remained silent, unsure of what to say. Obi-Wan frowned at him, but continued.

“The...physical manifestations of the Force all...perished. Or so it seemed to us. The balance of the Force has been upset in the aftermath. But, it's nothing to worry about Chancellor. The rise of the Sith and the Separatist forces have long done the same. It's nothing the Jedi Council cannot handle.”

“Yes,” the Chancellor said after a pause, seeming to consider something. His eyes lingered on Anakin, still narrowed in a way that seemed a bit...threatening. Like all of the inside of Anakin's head was on display. _Impossible_. “Quite.” His demeanour seemed to warm all of a sudden, though for the life of him Anakin couldn't quite pinpoint when exactly in the conversation it had cooled off. “Well, I thank you for your time, Master Jedi. I won't keep you any longer.”

“It is our pleasure, Supreme Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head. He turned to leave, Anakin at his heel, suddenly almost desperate to get out. He saw the hint of sunlight glinting off of the lift in the distance. If he could just make it past those doors -

“My dear boy, won't you stay a moment? It's been so long since we last caught up.”

Anakin stumbled, heart in his throat. This was completely irrational, he was safe, this was _fine_. The Chancellor had always been so kind to him. But the Force was screaming in his ear, telling him all the things he didn't want to know.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan had caught him by the elbow, had his eyebrows raised somewhere between a 'please don't insult this important authority figure for the love of the Force' and a slightly more concerned 'I know something's wrong'.

Anakin swallowed down his panic and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. _'Everything's fine.'_

“I'll catch up with you at the Temple, Master.”

Maybe the Force was wrong. And even if it wasn't, there was nothing he could do. He had to know.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, warm hand momentarily grasping Anakin's where it was still placed on his shoulder. Their eyes met. “I'll see you later.” He nodded respectfully once more at the Chancellor and left, his bright and familiar presence in the Force dimming with distance. Something dark and nebulous filled the hole that it left.

“Well, my boy? Won't you come back in?”

Anakin turned uncertainly, watched the sun creep slowly behind Coruscant's spiralling towers. The shadows in the room grew and grew. The Chancellor beckoned to him, turning to face the sunset and Anakin approached slowly, coming to a halt beside the seemingly frail figure. The silence grew thick.

“I think,” the Chancellor said quietly, voice reverberating suddenly and alarmingly in the Force, “that you haven't been completely honest with me, my dear boy.”

Anakin felt something cold slam into him, felt his gut turn to ice. That dark silhouette, that slimy, all-consuming darkness in the Force, it was unmistakeable – how had they not _noticed_ -

The sun dipped below the horizon and Chancellor Palpatine's hand flew out to grip Anakin's shoulder. He was forced slowly to the ground, the spectre of the Council's elusive Sith lord rising above him like a nightmare.

“No,” he managed. “How -”

“The Dark Side, of course,” the Chancellor said, eyes flashing hideous yellow in the dying embers of daylight. “It clouds everything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so that was kind of mean but rest assured, chapter three is on the way! (In my document, the word three tried to autocorrect to 'threatening', if you're looking for a hint as to what's coming. Something tells me Palps isn't gonna be too pleased about his plans derailing, like, years ahead of schedule lol.) As always, if you notice any typos or weird grammar things, do please let me know! I'm editing on my own here, so I'm liable to miss things. See you guys soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! So, I don't find any of this particularly violent (I don't think at this point that it's anything worse than what tends to happen in-universe, nor is it likely to become, if only because I can't write a violent fight scene to save my life). That being said, Palps is being a skeevy creep and he doesn't have the nicest things to say about my favourite trash son. I didn't put any archive warnings because I don't feel this meets the criteria, but I thought I'd better leave a note in case, just so there are no unpleasant surprises for anyone. Enjoy!

“I can see it in your mind,” the Chancellor said, unrelenting in his grip. Anakin could _feel_ him rooting around in his brain, bile rising in his throat at the twisted perversion of the Force. He cried out in horror, flinching as the visions he had seen on Mortis flooded back, crisp and painful once more where they had been dulled by distance and exhaustion. _Monster, monster_. “The future you were shown and managed to remember. Your despair is delicious, but I'm afraid your foreknowledge has...upset my plans for you. It's too soon, you see. You're not done _cooking yet_.”

“What,” Anakin started, words catching in his throat, heart beating loudly in his chest. His head felt full of fog, though his hand inched closer to the lightsaber on his belt instinctively. _This couldn't be happening_. “What p-plans?”

“You would have made an excellent apprentice.” The Chancellor answered with a smile, though the effect no longer came across as grandfatherly, even without the iron grip the older man had on his shoulder. He grasped Anakin's lightsaber with the Force almost too quickly for Anakin to see and tossed it to the side casually. Anakin watched in despair as it rolled to a halt, the Dark Side flaring around them nauseatingly ( _and familiarly_ ). The Light felt weak and spread thin against the onslaught, wavering like a gas-light about to go out.

“I would never join you!” He couldn't quite manage a shout, terror still clogging his chest with ice, but defiance had always come easily to him. “ _I will never join the Sith_.”

The Chancellor rolled his eyes, the gesture made decidedly sickening by the bloody ruin of his eyeballs. “I think we both know that is hardly the truth. You always were so _simple minded_ , boy,” he remarked, dragging Anakin back onto his feet. “It's part of what made you so easy to _manipulate_.”

“ _No_ -” Anakin whispered, unable to complete the thought. This had been going on for years, right under their noses. And Anakin -

“You didn't really think a high-ranking government official would take a real interest in an arrogant brat like you, did you? An undisciplined slave boy from Tatooine? My dear boy,” the Chancellor chided, thrusting him back a few steps roughly so that he stumbled. “You truly have been blinded by your ego.” His face darkened. “Coming in here alone, for instance, when you have single-handedly ruined years of my careful planning was practically _suicidal_.”

“You'll never get away with this,” Anakin protested angrily, eyeing the door with trepidation. Chancellor or not, you couldn't just _murder a Jedi in your office_ and expect no repercussions. He reached out through the Force desperately, searching in vain for Obi-Wan, for _somebody_ -

The Chancellor advanced slowly, eyes cold and dark.

“I've kept them in the dark this long. I've shielded my thoughts and the extent of my power for _years_. Nothing that occurs in this office will ever reach the outside world unless I want it to. That includes your thoughts, boy.”

Anakin closed his eyes, jaw clenching, heart pounding. _Kriff_. He was running out of options here. He had to get out, somehow, had to warn everybody. He dived for the door -

The Force caught him around the throat and lifted him up and _kriff_ this was uncomfortable. His eyes flew open, hands reaching for his constricted neck, suddenly feeling remarkable sympathy for the various beings he'd subjected to this particular manoeuvre over the years.

“I'm not going to kill you, boy,” the Chancellor said, peering up at him, fist clenched to hold him in position.“Your hate, your fear, they are still of use to me.”

“I will never,” Anakin panted, “join you. I will not become that _thing_. I'll tell the Council e _verything_.”

The Chancellor chuckled, low and throaty and terrifying. “If you really wish to, be my guest,” he offered slyly, tightening his Force grip on Anakin's throat. “How do you think our stories might compare? My word as the Supreme Chancellor against yours as a _murderer_.”

Anakin felt his blood run cold.

“How do you suppose the Jedi Council might react to the news that you massacred an entire village? At the very least, I imagine they would be quite unwilling to listen to any ridiculous accusations you might make against the kindly figure you _confided in_.”

The Chancellor released him from the Force and he fell to the ground, knees collapsing underneath him. He coughed harshly, eyes blurring. His hand was shaking. The Council – well, it wasn't like they'd ever believed in him anyway. Whatever punishment they might deliver he could endure. But if Obi-Wan knew – or, Force forbid, Ahsoka, Ahsoka who looked at him like he could do anything, who believed he was a _hero_ -

He wasn't sure he'd be able to live with their disappointment. He shuddered, the blurry hem of the Chancellor's carefully embroidered robe filling his vision, the krayt dragon pit of his heart smoking like a crater, flameless. But their disappointment, their judgement of him would be worth their survival, the survival of the galaxy. Anakin had never truly understood the need to place the good of the many over the good of the few, not when he loved the few so fiercely it sometimes felt as though he might be torn to pieces by it. But that kind of love – that _selfish_ kind of love, he thought harshly, it was worth nothing if the outcome was death. If the outcome was the _enslavement of the galaxy_.

He wasn't worth that much.

“I don't care about what happens to me,” he wheezed, making no move to rise from the ground. His lightsaber was just metres away. “The Council will know.”

“Is that not enough anymore? Dear me,” the Chancellor remarked, voice sharper than any blade. He kicked Anakin's lightsaber further out of reach, spitefully. It rolled behind his desk, out of sight. “Then I suppose I might have to waste valuable resources in order to dispatch your beloved Master. Not here on Coruscant, of course. Somewhere...remote. Off-planet. Missing-in-action, tragically. Or perhaps your padawan? It would certainly be easy enough to sneak an assassin into the Temple.” His yellow eyes met Anakin's own, narrowed menacingly. “And of course there's always Senator Amidala.”

“ _No_ ,” Anakin said, before he could stop himself. The Chancellor smiled nastily, knowing he'd won, and put a wrinkled hand to Anakin's head, gnarled digits tangling slightly in the curls. It was a cruel mockery of affection. Anakin tensed.

“My dear boy, you're going to do exactly as I tell you from now on. Or I will make sure your loved ones suffer the consequences.” The fingers in his hair tightened their grip. Anakin winced. “And once they have all perished I will reveal your true colours to the Jedi Council and the public. What I have lost in an apprentice I will have gained in a scapegoat and you will witness the fall of the galaxy from behind bars, a _Jedi_ no longer.” The Chancellor's voice was tinged with uncharacteristic fervour, reverberating once more through the Force. “If you want to keep them safe, there will be no defiance. No questions. And you will tell no one of our little secret. Do we have an understanding?”

Anakin closed his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered reluctantly, shuddering in disgust, distant anger rising up helplessly, futilely, despite his best efforts. The future swam nauseatingly behind his eyes, close enough to touch. Was this the will of the Force? That he always end up here, kneeling pitifully at the foot of some Master, a slave once more?

He cringed against the feel of the Chancellor's fingers in his hair. Perhaps he'd been a slave all along.

The Chancellor's fingertips sparked and the world became nothing but white-hot agony, his jaw wrenching together painfully as every nerve ending fried. He shook against the onslaught of Sith lightning, the familiar pain, saturated in the Dark Side, no less disquieting for having been experienced before.

And then it was over, a faint burning scent lingering in the air and his own screams echoing inside his head. He was being held up from the ground by his hair, though the sting was inconsequential in comparison.

“Try again,” the Chancellor said quietly, triumphant. He let go of Anakin's hair and his body slumped forward, trembling arms bracing him against the rough carpet in the crumpled approximation of a bow.

Anakin paused, throat closing in despair. His eyes stung.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #StopElectrocutingAnakinSkywalker2k16 (an admittedly unsuccessful campaign, so far. Don't worry, things always have to get a little worse before they can get better.) This one was a bit shorter, but only because it makes more dramatic sense to cut it off here. Chapter 4 is in the works (and it should be a bit longer, with any luck)! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Anakin stumbled through the entrance to the Temple in a daze, numb. The usually welcoming light of his home burned sallowly behind his eyes. He raised his shaking flesh hand to trail against the walls of the Temple, almost disappointed to find them solid and unshakeable as always.

 _Not a dream. Not a dream_.

But still a nightmare in all the ways that mattered.

Slumped outside the Senate Offices where he had been unceremoniously dropped by one of the chancellor's aides, head spinning, whole body still trembling, he had had half a mind to venture down into Coruscant's underworld and do something horrifically reckless. Pod-racing wasn't quite the same as running away, but it might have felt the same, if only for a moment. But he was bone-weary and terrified and all he really wanted to do was sleep, possibly until the end of the universe.

Which, he thought morosely, was likely sooner than any of them would have thought.

He could feel the krayt dragon uncurling in his chest, breathing new fire, kindled by guilt and the stark, unrelenting terror he couldn't seem to banish. This was different, more immediate, and infinitely more tangible than the distant but undeniable fear he'd felt on Mortis. This was real. This was _now_. And it was still _all his fault_. He ground to a halt in the corridor, palm still trailing against the wall. He had changed nothing. Or, everything. He had a sinking feeling that the galaxy was doomed either way, whether he played his part willingly ( _never –_ _ **how could he have**_ _?_ ) or not. He closed his eyes, leant his body against the wall in the vague hope that it would soak up some of his wayward emotions. He was having a hard time keeping everything under wraps. He half-hoped Obi-Wan and Commander Cody were well into a drinking competition by now – the Chancellor had somehow shielded his office from interference from the Force, but now that Anakin was out he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to hide his terror from the strength of the Padawan-Master bond. Speaking of which -

“Skyguy!”

“Ahsoka,” he said, voice level and definitely not trembling. He straightened and removed his hand from the wall to clench by his side, regarding his apprentice shrewdly. “Did the healers give you the all-clear?”

Ahsoka's face twitched slightly, likely to prevent an eye-roll that normally would have set his own jaw to twitching. “I'm fine, Master. They released me hours ago. Where were you?” Her voice wasn't quite accusing, but there was an undercurrent of what felt almost like hurt, hid clumsily behind her still-developing shields. He realized belatedly, with a twinge of regret, that she had probably been waiting for him to come find her so they could work out their internal struggles on the insides of a ship. “And...why do you look so...crispy?”

“I had to meet with the Chancellor,” Anakin said, fighting an internal shudder. He ached to tell someone about the truth they were all living under, about how gravely they were all being deceived, but the Chancellor's warning echoed menacingly in his ears, the phantom crawl of fingers tangled in his hair enough to kill the words while they were still in his throat. _She couldn't know_. “My speeder broke down on the way back here.” That would explain the lateness, at least. Though both Ahsoka and Obi-Wan knew him well enough that it was entirely possible they would conclude that he had simply been off pod-racing. “I repaired it, but...”

“But not before you stuck your hand somewhere you shouldn't have?” Ahsoka finished for him, wincing sympathetically, though her eyes glinted with a hint of humour. He looked back at her dryly, not confirming or denying, but grateful for the ease of their exchange. It was comfortingly familiar, even if just for a moment. Ahsoka could be a handful sometimes (he felt more retrospective sympathy for his own master every day), and they had their fair share of arguments (though not quite so many, he suspected, as he and Obi-Wan had even still), but she was a bright spot in his life. A source of pride. _Someone to protect_.

The tolerant smirk that had been inching across his face fell away and he swallowed, the lights of the corridor seeming to dim.

“I'm sorry we didn't get into any repairs today, Snips,” he said, ignoring her concerned frown. He started down the corridor, headed towards his and Obi-Wan's quarters and Ahsoka followed, stepping quickly to keep up with his longer stride.

“That's alright,” she said, though she still sounded a bit subdued. “I guess I am pretty tired.”

“You should rest,” Anakin said, slowing to a pace that was slightly less break-neck. “It's been a long day,” he repeated Obi-Wan's words from earlier, one eyebrow quirked slightly to acknowledge the ridiculous understatement. “The Council has given us a few days of leave before we ship out next. Why don't you take the day off tomorrow, do something fun.”

Ahsoka brightened. “You mean it?”

“Just one day,” he said firmly, not that it did anything to dull her enthusiasm. “Then it's back to meditation and lightsaber katas.”

“ _Again_?”

“Just be glad I haven't started throwing rocks at you,” he grumbled back, letting out an 'oof' as he was unexpectedly tackled from the side, Ahsoka's gangly arms wrapping around his middle. “ _Thanks, Skyguy,_ ” came the muffled response against his chest. He patted her bony shoulder in acknowledgment, soaking in the bright warmth of her presence in the Force before they parted and he waved her off down the opposite corridor, towards her own quarters. The corridor grew darker.

Anakin's shoulders slumped as he made his way more slowly back to his own shared quarters, wincing at the movement of joints stretched and contorted by Sith lightning, the after-effects of which he was all too familiar with but had been trying to ignore. Exhausted as he was, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he should forego sleep after all – the ache in his limbs would only be worse in the morning, especially if he gave his muscles time to stiffen overnight.

He fumbled to open the door to his and Obi-Wan's quarters, stumbling in gratefully. The air was still and thick with the late hour, the lights on their lowest setting. Obi-Wan sat, snoring gently the way he only did when he was truly exhausted, slumped at the table in their kitchenette, a cooling pot of tea and a gently glowing data pad resting near his hand. He'd waited up.

Anakin leaned against the door frame of the kitchenette, arms crossed in one of many attempts to stop his fingers from trembling. He watched his master quietly for a few moments, some fierce kind of affection growing in his chest. This was _home_. This was how things were supposed to be. Just a padawan and his master, side by side, forever battling against the Dark, fighting for what they knew was _right_. Nothing complicated, nothing so treacherous, nothing so confusing as what he had been confronted with since Mortis. A tide of stinging attachment crashed over him, tinged with fear, sharp, stormy.

Maybe it had never been that simple. Anakin believed ( _had believed_ ) in the Republic, in the cause of the Jedi, in doing what was right, but there had always been times – were times, still, where -

His throat burned. He'd tasted enough of vengeance to know that for himself there was no greater motivation. Even now, after all that he had seen of his future, all that he had seen of what he would become, his hand itched to wrap around Palpatine's throat the same way the Force had been wrapped around his own, dismember him the same way he had dismembered the Tuskens, sliced limb from limb with savage but calculated brutality. It was only his own weakness and the threats made against his loved ones that had stopped him from trying. That was what he _wanted,_ with every breath of his being that wasn't shaky and loose-limbed with terror. That was the kind of person that he was.

_'My name's Anakin and I'm a person!'_

The kind of monster he was. Nausea bloomed in his throat.

There could be no more excuses. He would find a way to deal with the Chancellor – if he did as he was told, played along as best he was able, then maybe his chance would come. At the very least he'd be able to discover how far the Chancellor's reach as a Sith Lord extended. And in the meantime -

In the meantime he would be good. Not the best, not the greatest, not the most impressive – just, good. Good, and not...angry, or jealous, or hateful.

He unclenched his fists with a concentrated effort and sunk further into the doorframe with a quiet sigh. That would be the real trick. He had a bad feeling about this.

Obi-Wan's eyes blinked open at his quiet exhalation and he peered at Anakin blearily, back cracking audibly as he righted himself in the chair. It was a testament to his exhaustion that he hadn't woken up before. He scrubbed an elegant hand down his beard to hide a yawn and stood, yet more joints crackling.

“Getting old, Master?” Anakin teased quietly.

“You've aged me prematurely, dear padawan,” Obi-Wan replied dryly, turning his back to dispose of his lukewarm tea with a quiet expression of disappointment. “You're back late.”

“Speeder broke down,” Anakin fibbed again, more easily this time. “There were...complications.”

Obi-Wan turned back around, scrutinizing him. “Yes, I can see that,” he remarked, frowning. “But you're alright?”

“Yes,” Anakin lied, face carefully blank, mind shielded. Obi-Wan nodded in reply, though his eyes remained slightly narrowed. But he said nothing, for once.

“I'm going to retire now. You should rest too, Anakin,” his Master said, a hint of warm concern peeking through his voice. He placed a hand briefly on Anakin's shoulder as he passed by. “Things will be better tomorrow,” he said. It was something he had often promised Anakin as a young padawan, once they had both gotten over their somewhat rocky start. Obi-Wan had proved to be, if not exactly affectionate, then certainly more caring than Anakin had initially been willing to credit him for. That promise, often mumbled into the top of his head after he had sought refuge from the nightmares that had plagued him even back then, had proved it.

His former master slipped away into his own bedroom, the door sliding shut gently.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said quietly to the empty kitchenette. He eyed the now empty chair and the pale blue glow of the holo-pad, entertained brief thoughts of his own bed, the blankets clean but somehow always smelling faintly of machines and oil. Familiar. Warm.

He sat down gingerly on the chair instead, fiddled absently with the holo-pad. He kept his hands carefully unclenched. He breathed slowly and carefully. It was only a few more hours until dawn, now.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, folks! Sorry about the wait - your girl is knee deep in midterms and ill-suited for economics. But that's another story. This chapter was a bit shorter than I would have liked, but I don't really believe in filling up space just for the sake of it, so. Not to worry, we're coming to what I think is the meat of this yarn really soon, with any luck. Padme and other assorted characters will be making an appearance pronto, and there should be a little more plot movement. Something tells me our favourite human disaster is going to keep doing what he does best - that is, be a complete human disaster. But he's definitely trying.   
> As always, thanks for reading! And I'd love to hear what you thought. Stay cool, dogs.  
> \- W


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! Trying something different out with the POV, so do tell me if you think it works or not. I love me some limited narration but it's fun to get into other character's heads too sometimes. There is what I would call the possible implication of (past) sexytimes, but it's real subtle (and also literally canon), friends, so I wouldn't worry. Your girl cannot violence and she cannot sexy (though, tragically, she has no trouble reading said violence and sexy. It's a dilemma). But she can melodrama. Anyways, enjoy and please let me know what you thought! I'm so grateful for the feedback I've received so far. It really makes my day.   
> \- W

Ahsoka took another slow, focused breath, becoming one with the Force just as she had been taught as a youngling.

Though admittedly, she thought with some irritation, her instructors back then had never made her simultaneously become one with the Force, balance on one hand upside down, and repel the tiny rocks she was currently being -

_Ping_. One of the rocks struck her lightly, bouncing off a montrail and falling to the floor of the training gym.

\- pelted with.

She cracked open an eyelid to see the upside down image of her master, a handful or rocks floating menacingly in his mechanical palm, looking decidedly too amused.

“Focus, Padawan,” he said lightly, a smirk crossing his face. “Let the Force guide you.”

Ahsoka groaned and shut her eyes again, melting as best she could back into that calm, focused place. The place that would help her stop the small rocks in their tracks before they pelted her in the face. Again.

“None of the _other_ Padawans get rocks thrown at them,” she muttered darkly. “Are you sure we couldn't just do lightsaber katas?”

“This is a character-building exercise,” her master replied, tossing another rock or two her way. She caught them easier this time, felt them pause in the air before they dropped to the floor. “An Obi-Wan Kenobi classic.”

“Of course,” Ahsoka sighed, brow furrowing in concentration. Her arm was getting tired. They had been doing this for what felt like hours, though the rocks were a recent addition. And it didn't seem like they were about to let up anytime soon. Ahsoka had half a mind to wonder if this was meant to be some kind of retribution for sneaking along on the disastrous mission to the Citadel last week, but she thought she had mostly redeemed herself for that. In truth, her master had been bound and determined lately, even before the mission, to train her 'the proper way' – ever since they had returned from Mortis, if she thought about it. _And she didn't_. While they had mostly stuck to the recommended Padawan curriculum before, her master had always approached things in a way that was a bit. Well, unorthodox. Anakin preferred to teach through demonstration rather than instruction, and so while Ahsoka's lightsaber training was unparallelled (and likely made her the envy of the other padawans), the other aspects of her formal training had been – well, glossed over, to say the least. 'You know how to meditate, right Snips? I'll just leave you to it,' had been the extent of her first scheduled meditation lesson all those years ago, to her younger self's ire. The war and their frequent appearance on its front lines made it easier to excuse the lack of formal training that Ahsoka was meant to be receiving, and in truth she had been beginning to appreciate it.

Another rock made it past her defences, catching her near the eye this time.

“ _Whoops_. Sorry, Snips,” her master said in response to her muttered 'ow!'. “But that wouldn't have made it through if you were focusing.”

“ _I'm trying_ ,” she answered. “What exactly is the purpose of this? We've already proven that I can dodge and block enemy fire just fine. You take me into _war zones_ every other week!”

“Like I said,” her master replied, pelting another rock her way. “This is _character-building_.”

But over the past couple of weeks her master had shown a newfound and unexpected propensity for following 'the rules', which apparently now included actually following the curriculum as written. Or at least, following the curriculum according to Master Obi-Wan's advice. It was disturbing and out of character, such that Ahsoka had been tempted to check her master for fever, or brain worms, or _something_. But aside from the shadows under his eyes (she was sure he wasn't sleeping) and the occasional sense of bleakness she sometimes caught a hint of through their training bond, her master seemed perfectly fine.

Fine, but _different_. The training was one thing, but he was also -

Quieter. And (she winced internally at the thought, because it wasn't quite what she meant) _nicer._ Even though he had been frustrated by her coming along on the Citadel mission without permission, he hadn't yelled at her like she normally would have expected. He had clearly _wanted_ to (that had been broadcast quite clearly through their bond, and by the painful-looking clench of his jaw), but had refrained, explaining, haltingly, that he was only worried for her safety and that he had no doubt in her own abilities to handle herself. _Ahsoka_ knew that, could sense his worry from a mile away, but for her master to be so self aware struck her as alarmingly unprecedented.

And she hadn't been snapped at in weeks. _Something was up_.

She stopped the final few rocks in their tracks, inches from her face, and cracked an eye open again. “Can I come down now?” she asked, trying not to whine (but probably failing). _Force_ , her arm was sore.

“Alright, alright,” Anakin acquiesced, waving a hand. “Well done, Padawan. You survived the rocks. We'll meet here again tomorrow.”

“Again?” Ahsoka asked, leaping gracefully out of her handstand. She stretched the abused limb behind her head with a groan. “But you just said I survived the rocks.”

“You did survive the rocks. And you did so well, I think we can move to the next level.”

“ _Next level_?”

“It's a surprise,” her master said, smirking. “But for your sake I'd wear something you can wash easily,” he suggested.

“Remind me to thank Master Obi-Wan for this later,” she grumbled. She glanced at the chronometer on the wall, stomach growling. It was well past lunchtime. “Can we break for lunch now, Skyguy? Only a few more days of leave before we're back to ration packets again.”

“Sure, Snips,” her master said. “I'll -” His comm beeped, interrupting him. He glanced at it with a frown and swallowed, jaw clenching. “You go on ahead. I've been summoned by the Chancellor.”

“What could he want from you in the middle of the day?” Ahsoka wondered, slightly irritated on her master's behalf. She knew the Chancellor was important to the Republic, someone to be respected, but nevertheless it seemed rude to just assume that people with lives of their own would be available at your every beck and call. The way her master seemed to be lately. “Is he going to send you away again?”

At this her master seemed to pale slightly, though he covered it well. That was another weird thing. The Chancellor, a couple weeks back, had sent a formal request to the Jedi Council, asking for her master's individual assistance with an important Republic matter of 'utmost secrecy'. Not that she'd been privy to it, but she had heard her master and Master Obi-Wan discussing it after, voices tense. It was all so strange. She had been under the impression that the Jedi Council was not completely at the mercy of the Republic Senate's political agenda – she knew her master and the Chancellor had a unique relationship, but it still seemed unbelievably presumptuous to commandeer her master for something an agent of the Republic could just as easily do, especially when Anakin Skywalker was so important to the actual war effort. And anyway, Skyguy was so easily recognizable that it didn't make any sense to send him on a mission involving 'utmost secrecy', unless he was going to be heavily disguised, or heading somewhere far in the Outer Rim. Anywhere closer and people would recognize the Hero With No Fear within ten steps of him, much to his own discomfort.

“We'll have to see,” he said quietly, placing the comm back onto his belt. She caught a rolling hint of unease through the Force. “I'll comm you if that's the case. Think about it this way – if I get sent away tomorrow then at least you won't have to endure the next level until I return.” He looked up to smile at her reassuringly, though it didn't reach his eyes. “Good work today, Ahsoka.”

“Thanks, Master,” she said, bowing respectfully in deference to his new ideas about 'the rules'. He bowed back distractedly and ducked out of the training gym, Ahsoka's eyes lingering worriedly on his retreating form. She sighed through her nose and glanced at the sun through the window, watched a cloud drift lazily in front of it. A shadow began its slow descent across the room and Ahsoka shivered, though she didn't know why. The Force felt restless, drifting like that cloud. It had for weeks, though it seemed to her that everyone in the Temple was determined to ignore it. Barriss had told her it was probably just the influence of the Sith and the tumult of the war, cascading and rippling through the Force belatedly. That nothing had really changed. Ahsoka wasn't so sure. Her thoughts went, as they often had lately, back to Mortis, though her memories grew hazier by the day. It seemed to her that it was the key to everything, to the ripples in the Force, the frightening emptiness she sensed within her master, her own uncertainty. Mortis had been the catalyst.

She stared down the covered sun until she had to look away, the remaining brightness of its light stinging her eyes. There wasn't much to do except simply wait for the clouds to pass.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“You're sending me to _Minntooine_? Without Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, trying not to sound irritated. Water worlds were no fun without his desert-born apprentice to tease. And he disliked intensely the feeling of a wet beard. “I'm afraid I don't understand, Masters. Has he been assigned elsewhere? I was under the impression that the Council was pleased with our teamwork as of late.”

The Council Chambers shone warmly with the afternoon light, but the promise of an evening storm lingered on the horizon.

“Pleased, we are,” Master Yoda said, ear twitching. There was a hint of what Obi-Wan might have been inclined to call disapproval sparking in the old Jedi master's eyes. “Commandeered by the Chancellor once again, Master Skywalker has been. Needed you are, to disrupt a delivery to the Separatist naval engineering base.”

“Commandeered. Again?” Obi-Wan frowned, brow crinkling. “Will the Council do something to intervene?”

“We've decided,” Master Windu stepped in, “to let the matter rest. In exchange for Master Skywalker's services, the Chancellor has graciously,” he said the word with some distaste, “allowed us to move ahead with our latest campaign without waiting for a Senate vote.”

Obi-Wan felt a sharp sting of annoyance that he released into the Force. Still, it was disconcerting to realize just how...political the Jedi Council had become of late. “Since when does the Council trade its own Jedi for political favours?” he asked sharply.

“It's hardly a trade,” Master Windu replied, arching an eyebrow. “And General Skywalker isn't needed on the front lines right now. Perhaps in other circumstances we might have dealt with this matter differently, but as it stands it does us no harm to lose him for a few days. And the Chancellor was quite. Insistent.”

“I imagine so,” Obi-Wan said coolly. He smarted slightly about being left out of the decision, but could understand why. He would have argued against it vehemently. Anakin was exhausted. Obi-Wan had last seen him that very morning, slumped and snoring gently in a cross-legged position on the ground in their sitting area, shadows carving out bags under his eyes. He had fallen asleep _meditating_ (as if the meditation alone wasn't alarming enough – Obi-Wan could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his former apprentice willingly sit down to engage in the act in all the years he'd known him). There was no way for the Council to know, of course, but if they had actually bothered to discuss the situation with Anakin they would have taken one look at the pallor of his face and grounded him, Obi-Wan was sure. At least if they'd been sent somewhere together he could have cajoled him into resting for a few hours. The last thing he needed to be doing right now was scurrying around the galaxy like the Chancellor's personal _errand boy_.

“I'm sure Skywalker doesn't mind,” Master Windu continued, tongue sharp to match Obi-Wan's tone. “He's never been one to shy away from personal recognition from the Chancellor. Or from anyone, really.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, wanting to disagree but finding it somewhat difficult. It was true that Anakin had a tendency to enjoy the attention that was so often given to him. He took pride in his own accomplishments, desired recognition and validation from those he respected. Obi-Wan was personally disinclined to judge him too much for it – his former apprentice was greatly talented, and worked hard (despite those like Master Windu who might have thought otherwise). And he had grown up knowing little but the love of his own mother, received no acknowledgement or recognition from those he had belonged to. Or, Obi-Wan thought, wincing, the Jedi Council, come to think of it. Even now they sometimes had a disconcerting tendency to brush over his achievements, deny him recognition. That same recognition, he realized, that the Chancellor was all too willing to give. Still, lately -

“Dealt humbly with these new assignments, your former padawan has,” Yoda remarked, seeming to pick up on Obi-Wan's thoughts. He nodded, skin prickling. It was all a bit...odd. “More diligent, respectful, he has become.”

“That's true, Masters,” Obi-Wan agreed, thinking of the ill-fated attempt to meditate. That Anakin had tried at all was more than a younger Obi-Wan could ever have hoped for. “He seems to have...grown into his role.”

He had been seeking his old master's advice more often too, lately, and appeared to be actually training Ahsoka in more than just lightsaber technique (much to her displeasure). He studied in the Archives, had been helping train padawans and clone troopers in his spare time, even done a round helping out in the medical wing of all places. _He had cleaned their quarters_ (Obi-Wan had nearly fainted in shock). And he and Obi-Wan hadn't had an argument in weeks. Overnight it was like he had become everything Obi-Wan had ever wanted of him. It would have been a miracle if it hadn't been flavoured with the unmistakeable essence of _guilt_. Obi-Wan could see it in his young friend's eyes, feel it in the Force. When Anakin did sleep his unsettling dreams seeped out into the Force, through their bond, distressingly. Obi-Wan refused to pry, knowing how much his apprentice valued his privacy, and so had little idea as to the exact content of the dreams. But he could guess.

“Well, whatever you've done to corral him, keep up the good work,” Master Windu said, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “It only took you more than a decade.”

“Inform young Skywalker you should, of our appreciation for his new attitude,” Yoda said more gently, dismissing Obi-Wan with a nod of his head. “When next see him you do.”

“I will, Masters,” Obi-Wan said, still frowning slightly. He bowed and left the Council chambers, headed to the landing bay where transport awaited him. _Minntooine_. Blast.

He left a brief comm message for his former apprentice (who, as usual, had his comm link turned off – some things never changed), wishing him luck and promising to see him soon. With any luck they'd arrive back on Coruscant around the same time and Obi-Wan would be able to get to the bottom of whatever was driving this sudden attempt at living up to the Jedi Code. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the change. He had welcomed it at first, perhaps even taken advantage of it. But now he was simply worried about the strain it was putting on his former padawan, to dampen the emotions Obi-Wan knew he must still be feeling, swallow his objections, do as he was told. He might have been the closest thing to a model Jedi he had ever been in his life, but in the process Obi-Wan feared he had lost all of the things that made him _Anakin_. It was disconcerting to watch, and Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt for not having interfered earlier. Perhaps the events on Mortis had left more of an impact than he had thought. Was it possible that his unwilling fall to the Dark Side was pushing him to become what he felt was the very opposite?

Obi-Wan watched the sun dip below the horizon as he entered the landing bay, lingering light gleaming prettily off the ships and the floor. He felt the slightest stormy breeze hit his face. It smelled of rain, though he couldn't remember any being scheduled for tonight.

 

_Wherever you are, Anakin, I hope you're alright_.

 

 

*

 

 

Padmé hissed an unflattering Huttese curse she had picked up from her husband as she ducked quickly from her docked speeder to the dry safety of her apartment at 500 Republica, waving a hasty goodbye to Motée and Captain Panaka. On a typical night she would have brought her handmaidens in with her, but she was tired and there would be no Senate meetings tomorrow. She had the rainy night to herself.

Well, she thought dryly as Threepio tottered up to meet her, towel in hand and already fretting, almost to herself.

“Mistress Padmé, how good to see you, you really must get out of the rain -”

“Hello, Threepio,” she said warmly, not inclined to be irritated with the fussy droid tonight. At least not now she was out of the downpour. Discussions regarding a new bill she had helped put forward today, this one meant to protect designated natural wonders from the ravages of galactic warfare, had gone exceedingly well. It seemed all too likely that the bill would pass. She accepted the towel from Threepio gratefully, removing her sopping wet shoes and cloak and setting them aside to dry.

Of course, it wasn't a major victory for the people being affected by the ravages of war, but it was her belief that no victory was insignificant in the face of massive opposition. If she could convince the Senate to support protecting trees and lakes from blaster fire, then surely it wouldn't be too large a step from there to support protecting the galaxy's citizens from the same. At least, that was the idea.

She headed towards her bedchamber to begin the lengthy process of removing her hairpiece and gown (an admittedly complicated endeavour, even with a handmaiden or two around to help), bare feet slapping against the expensive tile of the floor, listening to the soothing patter of rain on the windows. She stopped at the door, stifling a laugh. Her husband sat propped up against the headboard of her bed, hair still damp, fast asleep. The window he had snuck in from was still propped open slightly, water pooling in small puddles underneath it, his sodden boots abandoned beside it. A small trail of drool was seeping adorably out of his mouth. Padmé's hand itched for a holocamera, though she knew he'd never forgive her the betrayal.

His eyes blinked open blearily at her approach, nearly slapping himself in the face in his rush to wipe away the drool. His mouth curved into a smile.

“Ani,” she said, ducking down for a kiss. His hand cupped her cheek gently. Their lips parted reluctantly. “I didn't know you'd be here, I would have come home sooner.” Her hand lingered on his shoulder, the fabric of his dark tunic still damp.

“Sorry, Angel,” he said quietly, gazing at her the way he always did when they hadn't seen each other in a while, like he couldn't quite believe she was there. Like she was a miracle. “I wasn't sure I'd be able to get away.”

'Get away' felt different than usual, though she couldn't put her finger on why. Padmé sat down on the bed beside him, grinning at the rare sight of her husband's bare feet sticking out of his Jedi-issue trousers. They were just the slightest bit too short, a few good centimetres of ankle visible from the cuff.

“Didn't wanna get mud on your bedsheets,” he muttered, flushing.

“You could drag my entire closet through the dirt and I'd still be glad to see you,” she said, though privately she felt that might be a slight exaggeration. From the slight raise of her husband's eyebrows he clearly felt the same. “After I murdered you,” she amended, leaning in for another kiss. It had been weeks since they'd last seen each other, one thing after another conspiring to keep them apart.

“I missed you,” he said, taking her hand in his own. Padmé smiled, though her eyes narrowed as she took a moment to look more closely at her husband.

“Ani, you look _terrible_ ,” she said, lifting a hand to his face. Her thumb traced the puffy shadows under his eyes gently. “What have you been doing these past few weeks?”

His eyes darkened, though the anger she'd grown so used to didn't surface. “The war is heating up, that's all. The...the Chancellor has been sending me on personal missions. I'm heading out again tomorrow morning.”

Padmé frowned. “Is that even legal? The Jedi were for all intents and purposes absorbed into the Republic military, but there are still rules in place about just how much influence the Senate can have.”

Anakin shrugged helplessly, eyes blurry with exhaustion. “He's the Chancellor,” he said blearily, though it sounded less like the usual indignant justification and more like a resigned statement of fact. Padmé squeezed his hand and stood, gown ruffling with the movement.

“Well I'm glad you're here,” she said firmly. “It's been far too long. I'm going to remove this gown and you,” she grabbed hold of his trouser cuff and gave it a playful tug, “are going to remove your clothes, Master Jedi.”

“If you insist, Senator,” he replied, smirking tiredly. But when Padmé finally returned from her dressing room, hair released from its confinement at the top of her head, gown finally unfastened, she found her husband once again asleep, this time halfway through the process of removing his tunic shirt. She sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. And a touch concerned, she admitted to herself. It wasn't like Anakin to drift off before the fun even started. She resigned herself to a night of sleep exclusively and began to remove the rest of the tunic herself, receiving only limited assistance from her half-asleep husband. She tossed the tunic shirt onto a nearby chair and finally tucked them both under the covers. The rain prickled against the window and the roof softly, the faint glow of Coruscant's nightlife drifting eerily in through the window. Anakin drew her in close to his chest, fingers tangling protectively in her hair. He seemed slightly more alert than he had been before, breaths even and slow.

“Padmé,” he asked softly, as if unwilling to break the calm silence, breath fluttering against her forehead. “Why do you oppose the Chancellor?”

Padmé felt her heart sink, unwilling to get into yet another argument over galactic politics. _Especially at bed time_. “Ani,” she began warningly, shifting against his chest. Even after years of marriage, this was still the one topic they had yet to find common ground upon. Once the topic was broached it was only a matter of time before their discussion deteriorated.

“No, no,” he clarified, breath hitching. “I don't – I don't want to argue. I won't argue. _I want to know_. Tell me, legitimately, the reasons you have to – to distrust him.”

He sounded just the tiny bit desperate, Padmé thought. Like he was looking for those reasons himself. “Well,” she began more softly, hoping against hope that her husband was truly not looking for a fight, “no one can deny that he's stepped up admirably to service the Republic. I'm sure not all of what he's done is intentional.” She frowned slightly as her husband huffed a strangled breath. “But, the extra power he's been granted lately, the security measures, the lack of support provided to those suffering because of this war – well, it doesn't bode well. Not for democracy, at least.” She shifted her position so she could look her husband in the face, but remained pressed against him. He looked pale and troubled. The hair on the back of Padmé's neck rose. “Ani, has the Chancellor...” She trailed off, not quite sure how she had even meant to finish the sentence.

Anakin drew a sharp breath and stared at her bleakly for far too long a moment before shaking his head slightly. The movement drew a wince. “No, Angel,” he said. “There's nothing to worry about.” She knew he was lying, but also knew from experience that she'd have no luck prying whatever it was out of him before it was ready. And she knew that he would never keep something from her if it would put her in danger. She could wait. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she snuggled in closer once again. They fit together, perfectly.

“Goodnight, Ani,” she said gently, heart content, for now.

“Goodnight, Padmé,” he breathed. They fell asleep to the sound of the rain and their own hearts, beating in tandem.

When she woke up, her bed was cold and her husband was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka is so adorable, I could just write her all day. And Padme, what a babe. Her and Anakin are very interesting to write - I love that for the most part she's definitely the one with the power in their relationship, you know? She's literally older and wiser and I love it. I feel like that's not a very common dynamic in most media? She's definitely making a repeat appearance here, just not for a while (she's busy fighting for democracy while her idiots get themselves into trouble, obvs). Also, Obi-Wan the Mom is my absolute favourite thing, if you couldn't tell.   
> Things are heating up but the shit isn't even close to hitting the fan yet, I hate to inform you. But things always have to get worse before they get better.   
> As always, thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Obi-Wan entered his and Anakin's quarters quietly, the unpalatable, briny scent of Minntooine's vast ocean clinging to him, sensing a ripple of disquiet in the Force. Anakin was home ( _home_ , he thought warmly, briefly), and he was having a nightmare.

Torn between waking his former apprentice from what he knew was much-needed sleep and leaving him trapped in what certainly felt like a most unpleasant dream, Obi-Wan removed his still-damp cloak and hung it carefully on the back of the sitting-room sofa to dry. _Blasted water-worlds_. Dampness aside, however, the mission had gone exceedingly well, barring one very strange encounter he had yet to inform the Council about.

He turned to the kitchenette, intent on a pot of tea to chase the damp-induced ache from his bones (because he was tired and chilled, not because he was _old_ , thank you Anakin) but before he had even taken a step a flash of burning red, searing heat, filled the back of his head. Not a vision of his own making. It was accompanied by a familiar terror, heart-wrenching, spiteful. Obi-Wan had felt it more than once before, through the master-padawan bond, and far too often during these past few weeks. Enough was enough – he was getting to the bottom of this.

Abandoning the tea for now, he slipped into Anakin's room (which, as always, looked more like a mechanic's workshop than an actual dwelling), gratified to see that his friend had for once elected to sleep in his own bed (had elected to sleep _at all_ ) rather than at the kitchen table or the sitting room floor. His boots and tunic were abandoned in typical Anakin fashion, crumpled on the ground near the bed, though something about their placement seemed even more haphazard than usual. He was twisted in the blankets, face pale under the soft light of Coruscant's night glowing through the window, but eerily silent. The Force sang with distress as Obi-Wan neared.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, crouching down beside his former padawan's bunk. “You might have told me they were getting this bad.” He sent out soothing ripples into the Force, unable to tell if they were doing any good. He could sense Anakin's shielding, more heavily reinforced than usual, but even still echoes of his dreams wafted out through their bond. The strength of his terror could barely be contained. It filled the room and the space around them, seeping out through the Force, cloying. Obi-Wan shifted uneasily on his aching knees, perplexed. Anakin had always had nightmares – even as a child, though they had been more innocent then, not tainted by his mother's death and the horrors of war. This felt – different somehow. Worse. Even the dreams about his mother hadn't affected him quite like these ones seemed to. Obi-Wan thought once more back to Mortis, to his earlier pondering about the nature of Anakin's recent endeavours to live up to the Code and cursed, quietly. He cursed himself, cursed the Council, for keeping them so busy in the recent weeks. If he'd known it had gotten this bad - well. He had made the mistake of ignoring his apprentice's night terrors once; he wouldn't make the same error again.

He reached a hand gently to his friend's face, not wanting to wake him too suddenly. They were soldiers, now, after all, and Obi-Wan rather liked the shape of his nose. Enough not to want it bashed into his face by a mechanical arm, at least. His hand skirted over a fresh bruise on his friend's temple and he frowned, recalling Anakin's clandestine mission. _So you've returned, my friend_ , he thought, _but where exactly have you been_? “Anakin,” he said more loudly, sending out a slight push of the Force as his fingers made contact. Red filled his vision again, just briefly, the clash of lightsabers loud in his ears. And, strange and unplaceable, the sound of harsh, mechanical breathing. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Anakin bolted upright, eyes wide, bare chest heaving, panting harshly. He swiped Obi-Wan's hand away unthinkingly, the almost-flinch decidedly uncharacteristic, shields slamming down so abruptly as to be nearly rude. Obi-Wan's skin crawled with unease, though he said nothing.

“Master,” Anakin said, after a moment. They stared at each other, silence hanging between them. Anakin sniffed and scrubbed an arm across his face to wipe away the tears and sweat they were going to both pretend weren't there. “You're back. I'm...sorry, for disturbing you. I won't let it -”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, grabbing hold of his arm gently. “Whatever you might think of me, I'm certainly not going to blame you for having a nightmare.”

“Right,” Anakin said after a beat. “Of course.” The skin around his eyes was purple and bruised. Evidently whatever sleep he had just gotten had been far from sufficient.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, suppressing a grimace as his former apprentice looked at him uncertainly. Did he really come across as so unapproachable?

“I,” Anakin began. He shook his head, lips pressed into a firm line, though his eyes were shining uncomfortably. “I can't.”

Obi-Wan felt a twinge of frustration, releasing it almost immediately into the Force in chagrin. Anakin had never been one to shy away from his feelings, in fact had often felt frustration at Obi-Wan's reluctance to address them – his reticence now was a product of Obi-Wan's ignorance, and of his own flawed interpretation of the Jedi Code. ( _Of Obi-Wan's failure to teach him properly_ ). Anakin never had seemed to be able to reconcile the release of emotions into the Force with the acknowledgement of said emotions, equating the practice with simply repressing everything and ignoring it. Not realizing the extent to which those emotions would then consume him. Obi-Wan gazed at his former apprentice's face, the lips drawn tight, the glassy, exhausted eyes, heart aching.

“Perhaps it might help. For you to talk about it,” Obi-Wan suggested, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. _Blast_ , he really wasn't very good at this.

“Nothing to talk about,” and _there_ was a hint of the Anakin he'd been missing, the beginnings of an indignant bluster stirring in his voice. Anger to cover up fear, to smother every indignity, every embarrassment. It wasn't the Jedi way, but it was unmistakeably _Anakin._ His steely expression smoothed out all too soon, as it had been wont to lately, but it was proof enough to Obi-Wan that the boy he'd raised, for better or for worse, was still in there.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan conceded, swallowing the frustrated ' _Ana_ -kin' wanting to burst from his throat. He hadn't had to say it in weeks - why break the streak now? But the discussion was far from over. He let go of the arm he had grasped instead and swept a knuckle over his apprentice's cheekbone almost on a whim, the Force whispering in his ear. Not a flinch, this time, but the subtle tensing of Anakin's jaw was hard to mistake. He withdrew his hand quickly.

“You're warm,” he said, frowning. “Are you truly feeling alright?”

“Too many blankets,” Anakin replied, and it was true. Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure how all of them had been acquired, but ever since his apprentice had arrived on Coruscant as a young child the blankets had begun piling up. “It's cold here, Master,” Anakin had said, interrupting Obi-Wan's oft-repeated lecture on the nature of material possessions and how Jedi did not _want or need them Anakin_ , those blasted eyes peeking out from under the too-long fringe. Obi-Wan had relented, of course. “I suppose you're no good to me frozen, my young padawan,” he had replied. (A soft but practical blanket, plain, beige and old but obviously well-loved, had appeared on Anakin's bunk the following day. It was so well-worn now as to be a ragged shadow of its former glory, but incidentally it was also the one currently tucked closest to Anakin's head, the one that so often ended up twisted and scrunched in his hand, and the one he reached for first.)

“It's Corellian flu season,” Obi-Wan said sternly, though his eyes glinted concern. “We both know how that tends to go for you.”

“Every year,” Anakin muttered, grimacing. “How many strains of it can there be?”

“Enough,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin quirked an eyebrow to concede the point, but swallowed uneasily, clearly eager to change the subject.

“How was your mission?” he asked, voice a tad too bright. “I thought you'd be back before me.”

“It was a success,” Obi-Wan said, going along with his former apprentice, though he was yet unwilling to completely give up on the subject. He would just have to go about it some other way. He should have known better than to try the direct approach when it came to Anakin Skywalker, really. “But my ship must have become damaged somehow when I first landed. One of the wires attached to the engine had come loose, so my departure was delayed.”

“Nothing serious, though,” Anakin said, strangely carefully. “You weren't in any danger?”

“No, not at all,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. “My cover was maintained throughout. I intercepted and sabotaged the delivery with no trouble. Without those reactor cores, I imagine production there will grind to a halt for the foreseeable future. Though -” he paused thoughtfully, thinking back. “I did have an interesting encounter. It must have been a Separatist saboteur, though how they could have known that I would be there is quite the mystery. And they were quite incompetent, I must say.”

Anakin's left cheek twitched in what Obi-Wan would have normally interpreted as slight irritation. “That is weird. Incompetent? Incompetent _how_?”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “Does it matter?”

“No. No, of course not," Anakin sputtered slightly, cheeks colouring. "Just. I'm just curious, that's all. The Separatists are usually more careful than that.”

“That's true,” Obi-Wan conceded. “It was all very strange. He – well, I assume it was a he, he was cloaked but very tall -” and was that smugness radiating slightly through the Force? “- certainly made an attempt to prevent me from reaching the shipment. But he was unarmed. And once we engaged, it was like he stopped trying. I bashed him over the head, intercepted the shipment, and when I came back he was gone and my ship was damaged. I'm not quite sure what to think of it.” Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn once again to the fresh bruise colouring Anakin's own forehead. “And your mission?” he asked, watched as Anakin's eyes shuttered. “I won't presume that you can speak about it, but was it a success at least?”

Anakin swallowed, an inexplicable hint of that same familiar terror seeping out of his shields.

“No,” he said. One corner of his mouth lifted ruefully, like he and Obi-Wan were in the midst of an inside joke. One that Obi-Wan himself wasn't privy to. “I'm afraid it wasn't.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan said comfortingly, wondering if this was the source of his friend's distress. For all his occasional bluster, Anakin needed validation the way most people needed air. It would upset him, the thought of disappointing someone he respected. “I'm sure you don't need to worry. The Chancellor is very fond of you. Surely he'll understand.”

Anakin simply looked at him bleakly, the Force shimmering with fear that Obi-Wan was starting to realize had little to do with the night terrors anymore. His guts twisted with some unfortunate suspicion.

“Anakin -” he began.

“ _Don't_.” His friend's voice was brusque, but there was an underlying hint of something desperate and unpleasant. Anakin's fingers twisted in the blanket under his hand, arm muscles tensing.

Right. Direct approach. Bad idea. Had he learned nothing after all these years? Qui-Gon's voice, long gone but still so close, echoed in his head, urging him to ' _try something different, Padawan'_. Obi-Wan sighed. Something different. Well -

“Shove over, Padawan,” he said abruptly, changing tactics. He leveraged himself onto Anakin's bunk, knees protesting. Anakin scrabbled to the side, eyebrows raised, barely avoiding an elbow to the face as Obi-Wan struggled to find a comfortable position in the cramped space.

“ _Master_ -”

“ _Not a word_ ,” Obi-Wan said firmly, stealing the corner of a blanket for himself. “You're not going to sleep, I'm not going to sleep. We might as well make a pretence of it together.” He leaned against the wall, waited a moment for Anakin's head to come to rest under his chin the way it always did, once the obligatory indignant mumbling and grumbling had passed. Said head (and the accompanying shock of curls, Force help him) was quite a bit larger than it had been when Anakin had been a boy, but the principle was the same. Though they often shared close quarters on the front lines and in the field (and Jedi, as a rule, were certainly more tactile with each other than most non-Jedi gave them credit for. Obi-Wan had the fond memories of nap time in the creche to prove it), it had been years since they'd last sat like this. For good reason, Obi-Wan thought wryly, back already starting to cramp. They really were getting too old for this.

But his Padawan was scared. Not scared of the dark, or the thunder, or the monsters under the bed anymore, but scared all the same.

And it had always worked back then.

“Ahsoka never finds out about this,” Anakin mumbled into his chest, eyes already drifting closed. “It was bad enough when I was _nine_.”

“At least you weren't the one getting constantly _kicked in the spine_ by said nine-year old,” Obi-Wan muttered back good-naturedly.

They sat there in comfortable silence, breaths evening out slowly, the Force calming around them. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling the slightest bit helpless, conflicted in a way that was decidedly uncomfortable. His devotion to the Order was unquestionable. But -

Somewhere along the line the galaxy had become much more complicated. They were both at the mercy of things far beyond their control.

“The people in charge are not always right, Anakin. And they're not always good,” he said eventually, catching scent of the faintest hint of sea salt in his apprentice's golden curls. His stomach churned. “And there's not always...anything we can do about it. But you can tell me. When you're ready,” he promised quietly. Anakin was finally, thankfully, asleep now, breathing softly against his chest, but there was no other way for him to say it. No other way that his friend would listen. The Force would make sure he heard. “You're not alone.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm just posting this. Not completely happy with it (it feels? Choppy?? idk man, something's weird) but my brain is totally fried (thank u midterms) and I think I just need to step away from it lol. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy regardless! If you spot any glaring errors please let me know! And I do really like writing Obi-Wan and Anakin together, their relationship is so interesting (are they friends, brothers, lovers, father-son?? idk, and i don't think they know either tbh. i feel like that's where the majority of their issues stem from, honestly. obi-wan feels like he has to fill the role of an authority figure but anakin just wants someone who will listen to him - well, usually.)   
> Next chapter will be up sooner, I think, 'cause I have nothing to do this weekend haha.   
> Thank you for reading!  
> \- W


	7. Chapter 7

 

When Anakin had been very young and very new to life in the Jedi Temple, he had gotten into an argument with one of the other padawans – it was so long ago now and so insignificant that he couldn't even remember the boy's name, but he could very clearly remember the childish insults being hurled in his direction, that horrible sucking feeling in his chest as the other children had laughed at him. The Jedi were raised to be compassionate, forgiving, kind – and Jedi children were of course all of those things but they were also _children_. And Anakin had been – _still was_ – different. Behind them in so many ways, he had worked hard to catch up during those first few months, had tried to come across as serious in an effort to prove to the Council that they hadn't made a mistake. He supposed in retrospect he might have come across as standoffish, arrogant, to the few children that had tried to befriend him. He hadn't been used to making friends.

In any case, the occasional taunts had eventually escalated into a near-constant barrage of insults and teasing, as he'd figured they would. Obi-Wan had told him to be patient, to not give them the satisfaction of seeing him react. Anakin had smarted a bit at this advice, seeing as how he had spent his entire life up until that point employing the same strategy against _Watto_ , but he had agreed. He had tried. He had swallowed his pride and stayed calm and polite just like Obi-Wan had asked of him but that day – that day the boy had mentioned his mother. He couldn't remember exactly what had been said, just that it had been horrible. And his mother, his poor mother, who he might never see again, who was still trapped on Tatooine, who had given up everything for him, who was so kind and brave -

She deserved better than that. And so Anakin had snapped. It would be the first time, but not the last. He remembered clearly the sickening crack of his small fist against the other boy's nose, the way the blood had come spurting out, too much, too fast. He had run, knuckles bloody, certain that his time as a padawan was passed, that he had left his mother for nothing, that they would kick him out onto the streets of Coruscant, left to fend for himself. The supply closet had seemed a good a place as any to curl up and wait for his fate.

He hadn't counted on the locking mechanism. There were powerful cleaning chemicals kept in the supply closet, so carelessly left open by one of the cleaning droids, and the doors locked automatically upon their closure, at least in the wings frequented often by younglings and padawan learners. And Anakin had the skill but not the tools to disable the lock and free himself. Upon realizing his mistake and the dark, cramped quarters he now found himself trapped in he had shouted himself hoarse, small arms pounding at the door for what felt like hours. He had given up when his voice stopped working, hugged his knees to his chest on the ground and resigned himself tearfully to the harshly-scented dark, which had grown thick and viscous with his fear.

Eventually he had been found – he could recall clearly the hiss of the door unlocking, the concerned and exasperated ' _There_ you are, Anakin,' and the resulting 'oomph' as he had rocketed into Obi-Wan's waiting arms. They hadn't kicked him out of the Order (' _Really_ , Anakin, what could possibly have led you to that conclusion?' Obi-Wan had asked later that day, trying to appear stern, though his fussing and the warm cup of tea that found its way into Anakin's hands had betrayed him), in fact hadn't even really been punished. He wondered if Obi-Wan had perhaps convinced the Council that spending the afternoon trapped in a supply closet was punishment enough for breaking someone's nose. But the suffocating darkness of that room had never really left him, had settled somewhere in his heart to serve as a reminder of what it was to be alone, what is was to be trapped.

Rather like he was now. _With the skill but not the means to free himself_.

It was coming back to him, disconcertingly, the memory of that malignant dark, the way it coated everything. Even sound was muffled. He could hear his own breaths, strangely distorted. Mechanical. In fact, his breathing was the only sound, the only beacon in the surrounding darkness. Why, then, did it make him feel so cold?

_Khiss._

_Khiss._

_Khiss._

And suddenly everything was red and burning, the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber igniting, the comforting blue chasing away the darkness but burning his eyes. Coming closer and closer until the vision crystallized and there was his Master with unbearable anguish in his eyes, mouth twisted grimly, and the lightsaber was swinging towards him and his limbs erupted in agony and it was his fault his fault -

Anakin came back to himself, cheek pressed up against the carpet, limbs twitching in agony that was only partially remembered (foretold?). His mechanical hand gave an ominous spark that caused his entire arm to spasm. He breathed, raggedly, heart stuttering in his chest. It was always the same scene, over and over. Either that or Padmé, hung from the air, hands scrabbling at her throat -

“ _Rise_ , boy,” the Chancellor said menacingly, voice sharp. “Or your latest _incompetence_ will be the least of your worries.”

Anakin grit his teeth and struggled onto his knees, shaking. The early morning sunlight glinted sharply off of the embellishments of the Chancellor's desk. It was hardly past breakfast and he'd already been electrocuted. _Twice_. Not that it was an uncommon occurrence, at least, not lately. Any excuse would do. How would the public react, he wondered, if they knew that their beloved ruler was actually a sadistic _kriffing psychopath_?

But the Chancellor was still testing him, he thought. The missions he'd been sent on, to Minntooine and elsewhere, were a way for the Chancellor to see how far Anakin could be pushed, how far his obedience would stretch. _Not as far as you think, old man_ , Anakin seethed inwardly, though the pulsing anger was tempered by the accompanying helplessness. This couldn't continue. His failure on Minntooine hadn't gone over well – his still-twitching arm was proof enough of that. But it had, apparently, been convincing. Palpatine was furious, but he seemed to genuinely believe that Anakin had simply been overpowered by his old master. That he was that incompetent (or at least that exhausted). The bruise on his temple had helped sell the story, and the accompanying embarrassment on his part.

Still, he worried, wincing as he was dragged to his feet by the neck of his tunic, that the deception couldn't hold for long. Like it or not, he was in fact _extremely_ competent, if also extremely unwilling. The Chancellor's attempt to use him as a double agent likely stemmed as much from the Chancellor's enjoyment of the emotional turmoil it caused him to commit treason as it did his actual skill. He would have to succeed eventually, to prevent suspicion. To protect his friends. His cooperation ensured their safety, and that was the most important thing of all.

Even if it meant betraying the Republic.

“These missions are not to be undertaken lightly. Do not forget, _dear boy_ ,” the Chancellor hissed, sallow face and yellow eyes entirely too close for comfort, voice _taunting_ , “that you belong to me now.”

His fists clenched and the scent of dust filled his nose, phantom suns beating down on him. The dragon in his chest unfurled. Too late, too late, say nothing, ' _don't let them win, Anakin'_ -

“ _I am not your property_!” The Force howled with the proclamation, strongly enough that he caught a satisfying glimpse of surprise in the Chancellor's wrinkly visage before he was slammed into the foremost wall of the office, felt a rib or two crack against the onslaught of the dark side. He cried out, struggled weakly against the suffocating forces pressing him into the wall. The Chancellor advanced, robes swishing, crackling with energy. He seemed...satisfied, almost. Anakin felt his heart sink in his chest. He never had listened to Obi-Wan very well.

“So predictable,” the Chancellor sneered. “You are pathetically easy to manipulate.” He touched a sparking hand to Anakin's cheek, chuckling at the ensuing flinch. With an amused huff the lightning at his fingers dissipated. “And your anger gives you strength even still. But let us not forget who has the power here. Your insolence,” the pressure increased until the edges of Anakin's vision began to white out, “is unacceptable, as is your failure.”

“Y-yes, my master,” Anakin ground out. “I will not fail you again.”

The pressure released and Anakin slumped to the ground bonelessly, chest aching. The darkness thickened.

“Remove your glove, boy,” the Chancellor ordered quietly, a strange look in his eyes.

“I -” Anakin said, uncertain. A chill crept up his spine.

“ _Remove the glove_.”

There was a touch of steel in that voice, a promise of further cruelty. Anakin swallowed, resisted the urge to close his eyes, and carefully peeled off the glove, exposed the metal that made up his right forearm. The Force tugged it down and he felt the same pressure as before, glueing it to the ground.

The Chancellor placed an excessively polished boot with precise cruelty at the joint between metal hand and metal arm. It was sparking again, something about the pressure or perhaps the interference from the Force shorting out the circuits. Anakin watched helplessly, throat jumping, as the wrist of the hand was crushed underfoot, the artificial nerve endings screaming as the delicate mechanics were mercilessly broken. _Crunch._ The Chancellor met his gaze steadily, watching for a reaction.

Anakin said nothing, did nothing, though his entire being was screaming toward action, toward retribution. His jaw twitched. That wasn't the lesson here. All it would get him was further punishment. And it wasn't just his own existence that was at stake, it was the existence of his friends, of his family. 'Patience, padawan,' Obi-Wan said soothingly in his head, the phantom warmth of his arms replacing for just a moment the cold chill of the wall behind him. 'The moment will come.'

_But it is not now_.

“There, there. Was that so difficult? Doing what you were told.” the Chancellor said. “Next time you fail me I will remove it entirely. Or perhaps I should arrange to remove a limb from Senator Amidala?” He stepped back, finally, eyes glinting with cruel victory. _Padmé_. Anakin breathed in shallowly, throat tight. He had lost this round, was _perpetually_ losing, he was trapped, he was alone -

“Leave,” the Chancellor ordered, moving back towards his desk dismissively. Anakin struggled to his feet. “I have no further use for you at this time. Find some way to repair your hand – at the Senate's expense, if you feel so inclined. I have been telling them for years that the lifts are disintegrating. It was only a matter of time before somebody _caught their hand in one_.” Message received. _No one will ever believe you_. “And dear boy,” he said, face once again projecting a grandfatherly kindness as Anakin leaned heavily against the door, now half-opened. A flock of senators stood in the near distance, waiting for their chance to speak with the Chancellor. “Do stop by again soon. I do so _enjoy_ our visits.”

Anakin fled.

 

*

 

 

“What do you mean we're duelling with the opposite hand today, that's ridiculous!”

“Hey, do I ever say anything about your reverse grip?”

“ _Yes_ -”

“That's beside the point. If you want to use two sabers, that's fine with me, but you'd better be just as good with one hand as you are with the other. Otherwise it will just slow you down.” _And put you in danger._

Ahsoka stopped pacing to glare at him. Anakin smirked tiredly, holding himself stiffly upright. It _was_ a logical idea. There was nothing inherently _wrong_ with using Jar'Kai, and Ahsoka had proved herself a frightfully competent duellist on Mortis, but without the right kind of training it could leave his padawan overly dependent on the second saber. Obi-Wan would have approved.

It would also keep his all-too perceptive padawan from realizing that his right arm didn't currently _work_. Hidden by the glove and the sleeve of his robe it wasn't immediately obvious, but he was sure any attempt to place a lightsaber in it would end badly in more ways than one. Add to that the cracked ribs and the fact that his vision kept whiting out at inopportune moments and it was a recipe for disaster. But Ahsoka didn't have to know that.

“No rocks?” Ahsoka asked, giving in. Saber practices had been few and far between the past week, between Anakin's missions and his renewed focus on all of the aspects of Jedi training that _weren't_ lightsaber technique. Anakin knew she'd take what she could get.

“No rocks,” he promised.

It could have been worse, he consoled himself as Ahsoka, grumbling slightly, went to warm up, stopping to stretch in a patch of sunlight. The arm could be repaired when he had a minute. If he got a minute. As for the rest of it – some rest would help. He stifled a yawn with the palm of his left hand, waiting for Ahsoka to finish. The sleep he'd gotten last night had been the most restful in a while, thanks to Obi-Wan's presence (not that he would ever mention it again), but it was never enough. Not lately. The dreams -

He couldn't seem to get a grip on them. All he ever saw when he closed his eyes was Padmé, on the ground at his feet, or Obi-Wan, eyes filled with grief as he swung towards him. Other things too, less clearly. A planet, destroyed in an instant, the Force crying out as a young girl, somehow familiar, screamed. There was a boy sometimes, too, who looked back at him sadly with his own blue eyes. And, worse, the occasional glimpses of children, _younglings_ , dead by his hand, the Temple in blurry flames surrounding him -

“Skyguy?”

But never any glimpse of Ahsoka. His heart twisted. He didn't know whether that was a good sign or not.

“Ready, Snips?” he asked, igniting a practice saber ('No real sabers until you get the hang of it,' he'd told her earlier. 'I've lost enough limbs as it is.'). Ahsoka looked back at him, frowning, but said nothing. Anakin made a concentrated effort to look less like he'd recently been Force-slammed into a wall.

“Ready if you are,” she replied, assuming a Form V opening position, foot back, arms raised above her head in a two-handed grip.

“Ah, ah,” Anakin said, grinning. “One hand only, padawan. Why don't you start with a Soresu stance instead?”

“ _Really_ , Skyguy?” Ahsoka rolled her eyes but adjusted her stance accordingly. “You just don't want me on the offensive. Afraid you're gonna lose, old man?”

“Hey, who're you calling old? Believe me, Snips, if I lose to you it'll be because I did it on _purpose_ ,” Anakin shot back, assuming a Soresu stance of his own, ribs protesting at the twist of his chest. He wasn't as intimately familiar with the form as his master was, but for this purpose today it would do just fine. He was...tired, of being aggressive. At least for a little while. “Just be glad it's not Obi-Wan teaching you. All I ever learned for the first couple years was how to be on the defensive.” It was true. He'd eventually sought out the more aggressive and confrontational forms of lightsaber combat himself and didn't that just make the pool of icy guilt in his chest even colder? Leave it to him, future destroyer of worlds, to seek out the only lightsaber technique that was literally _fuelled by rage_. He pressed himself back into meditative calm with an internal wince.

Ahsoka sighed, but leapt forward soon after with a sharp, toothy grin. The rest went as expected, the two of them parrying strikes back and forth with familiar ease, despite the use of non-dominant hand. Ahsoka (though he'd never tell her) was extremely skilled, if a little rash. ' _Remind you of anyone?_ ' the Obi-Wan inside his head remarked dryly. If anyone could handle two lightsabers well it was her.

“When did you get back, Master?” Ahsoka asked, blocking a strike with ease. They had a good rhythm now, moving as one across the floor of the gym. A gaggle of younglings had stopped to watch on the other side of the floor. They would never achieve the same intensity of being that he and Obi-Wan managed when sparring, that weightless feeling of total synchronicity, but they were still quite the spectacle. “I didn't see you at breakfast this morning.”

“I returned last night,” Anakin replied, thrusting forward with less intensity than what was usual. There was a hot band of pain around his chest, now that he was moving. “I-I had a meeting with the Chancellor this morning.”

“But you aren't allowed to tell me what it was about? Even when someone clearly knocked you on the head?”

“Nope. Sorry, Snips.” The dance continued. Anakin breathed carefully, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck, parrying strike after strike. How could he be too hot and too cold at the same time? He didn't have _time for this_.

Unaware of his ongoing struggle (and how close she was to actually winning, Force help him) Ahsoka lunged forward, scowling in frustration, eyes widening in surprise as she managed to score a hit. Anakin bit back a shocked grunt, hand flying to his chest in surprise. “ Good – good one, padawan,” he gasped out, bending over slightly to hide the wince of pain. _Kriff_. Right in the chest. Of course.

Ahsoka let the training saber fall to the ground and leapt closer. The dance was over. “Master!”

“It's fine, it's fine,” he waved her off, took a moment to catch his breath. When it didn't work he straightened with a pained grin and pretended it had. “Told you I'd let you win.”

“If you didn't look like you've been trampled by a herd of banthas I might even believe you,” Ahsoka replied, frowning. “Are you sure everything's alright, Master? Maybe you should get someone to take a look at -”

“ _No_ ,” he said, retracting his own practice saber. No one would believe him, and he didn't want to raise any more suspicions than he already had and risk angering the Chancellor. He had a feeling the next time he screwed up it wouldn't be only him receiving the brunt of the Sith Lord's anger. “I'm fine, really, Ahsoka. Just tired. _And I let you win_ ,” he insisted, Ahsoka's protests drowned out by the arrival of his master, who swept in to the gym from the left-most entrance looking faintly irritated.

“There you two are. I've been comming you all morning,” he informed Anakin matter-of-factly, a hint of concern softening his face as he took in the condition of his former apprentice and his padawan. “Is everything -”

“ _Fine_ ,” Anakin interjected calmly, poking Ahsoka mentally through their bond. She poked him back, mercilessly, but thankfully remained silent, though she radiated icyness through the Force. “Everything's fine. Sorry, Master. My comm was turned off.”

“I can't say I'm surprised,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “Well, I hate to interrupt your training, Ahsoka, but we've been given a mission by the Council. We're to depart this afternoon.”

“Just the three of us?” Ahsoka asked, thrumming with excitement. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin disapprovingly, who shrugged in answer. He had, technically, given his padawan the whole spiel about how Jedi were meant to control their emotions and temper their passions, though she hardly needed it. It was drilled into younglings practically from birth. So, he hadn't exactly lead by example before. Ahsoka had excellent judgement, and had the makings of a far better Jedi than Anakin himself – he wasn't about to crush her excitement.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “The Council is meant to be briefing us _right now,_ which you'd know if you had picked up any of my calls.”

Anakin felt a hint of colour rise in his cheeks. Right. Comm-link off. Whoops. He cleared his throat. “Well, then I guess we'd better get moving. C'mon, Snips.”

Ahsoka shook her head fondly and went to pick up the training saber from where she'd left it on the floor. “Whatever you say, Skyguy.”

“Come along, you two,” Obi-Wan said, looking done with them already. Anakin would have normally placed a bet with Ahsoka at this point, on how long it would take before they worked him into a stress headache, but it seemed counterintuitive to his attempts at reinventing himself. “We're late enough as it is.”

They followed Obi-Wan out of the gym, Anakin trailing behind in an effort to compose himself a little better. For once in his life he found himself hoping the mission would be uncomplicated. Simple. Non-combative.

The Force thrummed a warning. Right.

 

Like he'd ever been so lucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Ani. Things just aren't going well for you, are they? And I hate to say, but we've got a long ways to go yet.   
> Sorry for the wait, after I promised something sooner! It figures my brain would turn to mush right after. We're really heading into what I figure to be the middle of this story, so there's lots coming up. Padme will be back, as well as a few other staples. She's got her idiots to look after, after all. Speaking of her idiots, they really are the most fun to write all together like that. Mom Friend Obi-Wan gives me life. I bet he and Padme get together sometimes to drink wine and complain about everyone (or at least, I hope they do). Anyways, I'll be back soon with any luck! It's time to write these guys into some trouble.  
> As always, thank you for reading! I love hearing what you think.   
> Peace out,  
> \- W


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! Just a heads up - still nothing beyond what is shown on the (children's, i still can't believe it some days) cartoon, but it does get a little, uh, nasty, at the very end. By which I mean a bit slicey-dicey. And (spoiler alert?) Obi-Wan does jump to some upsetting conclusions about Anakin's interactions with the Chancellor, so just be mindful if the implication of abuse of authority is something that you find upsetting. As always, I don't find it particularly explicit or gratuitous (I hope) but I'd hate for anyone to be unpleasantly surprised.   
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

“Kabal seceded shortly before the beginning of the war,” Obi-Wan was explaining to Ahsoka quietly and grimly as Anakin (skillfully and discreetly, if he said so himself) single-handedly engaged the engine of the heavily modified Corellian freighter they'd be travelling in. He'd spotted a delicate repair kit in the back, likely meant to be used for repairing the ship's instruments, which tended to require more careful and precise tools. Once he got them safely into hyperspace he'd duck to the back and try to unmangle his hand with it. “Republic taxes placed on the Sharlissian Trade Corridor caused the Trade Federation to stop using the route, which lead to massive food shortages on Kabal. There was political unrest, rioting. Count Dooku swept in and saved the day and they left the Republic shortly after.” His voice dripped with distaste, and a hint of sadness caught through the Force, leftover frustration with the Republic's actions. Anakin frowned. Yet another event most likely engineered by the Chancellor himself – exactly how long had he been running this show anyway?

He shook his head slightly, unwilling to give it much thought. The Chancellor had no hold on him here. For the time being he could try to forget his predicament, enjoy the time spent with his friends. And their success on Kabal would be one more thorn in the Chancellor's side.

If they got there in one piece. The freighter was a bit clunky for Anakin's taste, and the hyperdrive was so old they'd be lucky if they made it even half-way to Kabal without something giving out, though it fit their cover as scruffy arms merchants perfectly. Artoo was also less than satisfied, judging by the indignant squeal he heard from the back as the droid attached himself to the ship's computer.

“But the Council caught wind of a potential uprising?” Ahsoka asked, patting Artoo absently on his domed head. The squealing stopped.

“The leader of a group of rebels opposed to the Separatists made contact a few days ago requesting assistance from the Jedi,” Obi-Wan replied as Anakin fed Artoo the coordinates. There was a slight, disconcerting jerk as they lifted off. Anakin toggled a few switches to compensate, frowning. “I've been in communication with their leader. We'll rendezvous with them in Shoribus, the capital, and determine the extent of their network.”

“And if it's viable, then we give the all clear and start supplying them with munitions.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “If it looks like they have a chance. If we could gain a foothold on Kabal it would be a great victory for the Republic. Force knows we need it.”

“Is this about that business on Mon Cala?” Anakin asked, putting together the pieces from what little of the HoloNet he'd been able to catch lately. The freighter left the Temple landing docks smoothly, despite its state and he watched, always mesmerized, as Coruscant grew smaller and smaller. The city glowed beneath them in the late afternoon sun.

“There's trouble brewing,” was all Obi-Wan would say. Anakin huffed in agreement and let Artoo take them into hyperspace, watched the galaxy glide away in a haze of iridescent blue.

 

 

 

 

*

 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ahsoka said quietly, face barely visible under the hood of her cloak. Obi-Wan said nothing, though privately he agreed. The Force shimmered a warning, the air around them tense and pulled taught as a string in the late afternoon sun. The three Jedi were squished together in a crowded restaurant booth, three to a bench and all the grouchier for it, across from the ruins of Kabal's Central Citadel. The Citadel had been destroyed years ago during the riots and never fully repaired. It was a somewhat desolate spectacle, the Force humming a dark reminder. The entire city was smothered, grim. Obi-Wan felt suffocated under the weight of it.

He sipped at his cup of caf, feigning nonchalance, though inside his chest was tight with worry. Their contact was ten minutes late, and the military presence on Kabal was outrageous and unexpected. While Kabal was under Separatist rule, previous reports had indicated that the planet was more or less left to its own devices, even despite reports of rebellious activity. Something had changed.

Obi-Wan sighed, reaching out into the Force for reassurance. He found none. This was turning out to be far more complicated than he had anticipated. He had wanted a mission that was straightforward, simple, had jumped at the chance to get Anakin and Ahsoka off-planet but away from the front lines. They had all been run ragged lately, and he still hadn't gotten to the bottom of his former apprentice's troubles.

As if on cue, Anakin shifted slightly beside him, the pained twist of his mouth just visible under the hood of his own cloak. He hadn't touched his own cup of caf.

“Shouldn't this person be here by now?” he asked softly.

“I'm sure they'll be here soon,” Obi-Wan answered. “There's more military personnel roaming around than I anticipated.”

“This doesn't feel right,” Ahsoka mentioned again, squirming in her seat. She took a sip of cap, seemingly to give her hands something to do. Anakin bumped against her shoulder reassuringly, quickly enough that anyone but Obi-Wan would likely have missed it.

“You're right, Snips. But don't worry. Lucky for us, we're good at improvising.”

Ahsoka started to say something that, judging from the disbelieving look on her face, wouldn't have been very polite, but was interrupted by the arrival of another hooded figure, who slid gracefully into the bench seat across from them. A blaster was concealed in the figure's sleeve, but he sensed no ill-intent and so didn't react. A pair of green, human eyes looked out at them from under a scarlet hood.

“You are the Jedi sent to us?” the human woman asked, face pale, voice taught.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “I am -”

“Don't tell me your names,” she said, frowning. “There's no time, and this is no place. I am Commander Nala Dovu, leader of the Kabalian Rebels. I welcome your help, but I have received word that the Separatists have caught wind of your presence here. There will be raids. You must come with me, _now_.”

“ _Figures_ ,” Anakin huffed under his breath, following Obi-Wan with another wince as they slid out of the booth. _No rest for the wicked_ , Obi-Wan thought he caught the brittle whisper of through the Force.

“How could they have found out?” Ahsoka demanded quietly as they followed Nala Dovu through the crowded city centre, heads down, hoods up. Obi-Wan could feel her in the Force, a familiar thrum of predatory, anxious energy. “Master Tholme would have made sure this operation remained totally secret, and we made it onto the planet just fine!”

Anakin placed a hand on her shoulder, face tight, hurrying them along before they lost track of the scarlet-robed figure weaving through the crowd in front of them. “There's no way to tell,” he said, his eyes dark. “But it wouldn't be the first time the Republic has been compromised like this.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, matching their pace, resisting the urge to place a hand on his lightsaber against the growing tension. “It certainly wouldn't.”

They turned a corner, sharply, and all of a sudden the crowds disappeared, the tension in the Force dissipating somewhat. So did the sun. A sharp, pungent smell filled Obi-Wan's nose, and he caught a flash of surprise and then irritation through the Force as Ahsoka tripped through a puddle of something unrecognizable but suspect. Nala Dovu, seeming to know exactly where she was going, led them to the very end of the dark alleyway and rapped on a heavy-looking door three times. A heavyset and heavily armed Besalisk opened the door slowly, a glint of one of the many disruptors and blasters in his hands just visible in the gloom of the alley. His face softened as he caught sight of who had knocked.

“Nala?” he said. And then, more resigned. “You're in trouble, aren't you.”

“Sorry, Uncle Vax.” she said, a slight cringe in her voice. “You know I wouldn't come if it wasn't important.”

“You know you're always welcome here,” he said warmly, the comforting click of multiple blasters being disengaged doing more to reassure Obi-Wan of the fact. “But, who are your companions?”

Nala's face tightened, eyes shifting slightly. “They're Jedi. The Republic has sent them, to help us.”

“ _Jedi_ -” came the harsh whisper. The Besalisk groaned softly. “You really are your father's daughter.”

“They need a place to stay, out of the way,” she said, imploring. “Just for a little while. Until I can arrange a diversion for the Separatists.”

He waved a hand, opening the door wider so that they could all crowd in. The inside of the building resembled the outside in more ways than one, the walls made of old and rusted metal, the duracrete floor cracked and grungy. Obi-Wan could feel the presence of others in the Force nearby, hear the bustle of nearby movement. “The less I know the better,” the Besalisk said, placing the various blasters he had in his hands on a small metal table. “But I will keep your Jedi here. It's the least I can do.”

“ _Thank you_ , Uncle Vax,” Nala said, pale face turning once more towards the Jedi. “I am sorry about this predicament. I will come for you tomorrow and take you to our base. You have my word you will be safe here.”

“There's no need to worry about us, Commander,” Anakin said firmly, the trembling of his fingers that he seemed to think Obi-Wan wasn't noticing belying the strength in his voice. Their frantic journey through Shoribus' streets had winded him, but he was an excellent liar. To all who didn't know him. “Thank you, for your quick thinking.”

Nala smiled, seemingly charmed. Obi-Wan met Ahsoka's eyes dryly over the head of their contact. Her mouth twitched.

“It was no trouble. I am grateful for your presence here, Master Jedi.” The scarlet-robed figure, now blushing slightly, nodded to them, and to 'Uncle Vax' gratefully before ducking out of the metal corridor and back into the alleyway. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind her, leaving them in the dark.

“Well,” Vax said, “you'd better come with me, you three. This is the back entrance to my inn – I'll take you to a room.”

“The raids Commander Dovu mentioned, will they not also affect your establishment?” Obi-Wan asked as they were led up a flight of rusty metal stairs. The passage was so narrow that Vax was forced to climb them practically sideways. Vax chuckled.

“No, there'll be no raiding Uncle Vax's. I've made friends with the right people, you see.” His face darkened. “I get no joy out of it. But I've done what I have to.”

The narrow stairway twisted up several stories, and they traipsed up in silence for several minutes. Vax took them to a room at the very end, small, cramped, and metal, but surprisingly clean. There was a refresher off the side, and it was furnished plainly. A double pallet was shoved haphazardly into the corner, a large rug doing little to hide the cracks in the floor.

Vax held the door for them as they filed in. “It's not much,” he said apologetically. “This isn't exactly a five-star establishment, as you might have guessed. But it's a roof over your heads, and there's food downstairs when you have need of it. Otherwise, I'd stay up here if I were you, just in case.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Obi-Wan said. “We're very grateful.”

“Think nothing of it. I'll be off, now.” The Besalisk nodded to them politely and left, the door sliding shut with a screech behind him. Obi-Wan sighed and stopped to consider his companions in the weak daylight filtering in from a small window on the outermost wall. They looked pale and vaguely unsettled. Not unlike he himself felt. The Force was still – _tense_.

“Well,” Anakin said, sinking gingerly down to the ground with his back against the wall. He crossed his arms. “That could have gone better. What now?”

“Now,” Obi-Wan said, removing his cloak and folding it carefully. “We wait.” He set the cloak on the ground and joined it, claiming a piece of the rug that looked the least suspect and settling into a meditation position. Ahsoka sat too, sparing the briefest of suspicious glances at the ground before shrugging.

Anakin's jaw clenched, but he nodded in agreement, face free of the mutinous tension that Obi-Wan had long come to expect. He sat eerily still, and Obi-Wan felt his neck prickle again with the sense that something was very wrong. Anakin Skywalker was many things, but _still_ was not often one of them. Obi-Wan thought, fleetingly, back to his first attempts to meditate with his apprentice all those years ago. For the first couple months he'd had to hold Anakin's hand in his own to stop the fidgeting, for Force's sake.

But Anakin's shields were up and his eyes were now closed, his presence in the Force deceptively calm. Ahsoka's eyes were closed too, legs folded underneath her, already deep within her own meditation. Obi-Wan sighed, but didn't interrupt. Instead, he sank into the Force himself with internal relief, felt its calming presence wash over him gratefully. Beneath the ever present sense of foreboding, so long felt that it was by now an almost familiar sensation, there was _life_. As long as there was life, he thought faintly, there was hope. There was always hope.

While Obi-Wan often meditated with the Unifying Force in mind, seeking the future and the past in the threads of the universe, of late he had found himself wandering through more...concrete aspects of the Force in the galaxy, seeking life, seeking truth. Precognition was both a gift and a curse, a useful tool but also a potential cause of pain. Since the advent of the Clone Wars, his glimpses of the future had held little light within them, nothing good, nothing kind. But the here, the now – perhaps his old master had been right about the necessity of viewing the Force through the lens of the living. Certainly it held more to feel good about.

And Qui-Gon Jinn had been on his mind, ever since his encounter on Mortis. His memories of the mission had faded somewhat, alarmingly, but that one instance remained breathtakingly, heart-wrenchingly clear. He had thought he had dealt with the death of his master, all those years ago, made his peace with the will of the Force and done his best to move on. Grief-fuelled dismemberment of Maul aside, he had acted as befitting a Jedi. There had been no hysterics, no emotional outbursts. Well, he thought, thinking of his and Anakin's first few months together. No outbursts the Council had to know about. But Qui-Gon's reappearance had stirred up all of his old doubts, his old insecurities, made that long-healed scar in his heart ache again.

_Have I done right by your teachings, Master? Have I made you proud?_

There was no way to tell. And he wasn't about to return to Mortis to find out.

The three of them sat, meditating, until the washed out sunlight disappeared from the window. Obi-Wan opened his eyes to grey darkness, Kabal's moon casting weak and watery shadows on the wall and for a moment he was unsure of what had drawn him out of his trance. The room was still and silent, the darkness having settled in around them while they waited -

But the Force was trying to tell him something. He listened, waited as his eyes adjusted to the latent gloom. And, there it was – quiet, laboured breathing and the alarming stutter of a heartbeat, too fast, too uneven. And through the Force – pain.

_Anakin_.

He was up and moving before the thought could fully form, crouching down in front of where his apprentice was still slumped against the wall ( _that should have been the first clue, you blasted_ -), hand cradling a head that was too warm and too slow to rouse. He prodded with the Force, pressing against the shields that would normally have tossed him out of Anakin's head in a heartbeat, especially lately – they were disintegrating slowly, the strength necessary to maintain them needed elsewhere.

“ _Anakin_ ,” he said urgently, mindful of Ahsoka rousing from her own meditation, the Force rippling with mounting distress. “Open your eyes.”

“Master, what's wrong?” Ahsoka asked, coming to crouch beside him. Her forehead creased, montrails twitching.

“I'm not sure,” Obi-Wan said, voice sharp with worry, watching as his apprentice's eyes fluttered. The Force around him was twisted, but it had been prone to that lately, especially when he was asleep. With his shields falling to pieces it would only get worse. “He's too warm, and his pulse is thready.”

“I don't understand,” Ahsoka said. “How? I mean, I guess he hasn't looked all that great lately. But -”

“This certainly seems unprecedented,” Obi-Wan admitted hesitantly, a hint of worried suspicion glinting in his narrowed eyes. He placed a light hand on his former apprentice's arm. Anakin's eyelids fluttered again, but he did not wake, his breaths coming in quiet, painful sounding gasps. His mouth was twisted in a grimace, even unconscious.

Obi-Wan's lips pressed together. “Help me move him onto the pallet,” he said, voice still sharp. Ahsoka nodded unsteadily and she snuck a shoulder under her master's arm, eliciting a pained moan. Together they shuffled him over to the small room's sleeping pallet. He roused slightly as Obi-Wan was tucking his robe behind his head, eyes bleary with pain and confusion that echoed through the Force. His head lolled slightly, cheek coming to rest near the palm of Obi-Wan's hand.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, crouching down nearer to the pallet, that tight thread of worry still singing in his voice, through the Force. He moved his hand down to cup Anakin's jaw, elegant fingers splaying supportively against his former apprentice's face.“Anakin, look at me.”

He focused on Obi-Wan with effort, blinking slowly.

“Master,” he rasped finally, eyelids already slipping closed again.

“No, Anakin, stay awake,” Obi-Wan ordered firmly, fingers pressing urgently into his head. “You need to tell me what's wrong.” _And why you somehow thought I wouldn't notice._

“Nngh,” Anakin said in the negative, shoulders seeming to tense. His lips pressed together and his eyes darkened in a way that was cagey and slightly defensive, the expression so familiar Obi-Wan was startled to realize that he hadn't seen it on his friend's face for weeks. “I'm – I'm alright, Master.”

“That's a lie and you know it,” Obi-Wan shot back bitingly. “You're feverish and in pain. How long have you been feeling poorly?”

“ _I haven't been_ -”

“At least a week,” Ahsoka answered for him, ignoring the dirty look cast at her in retaliation. “And I beat him in a practice duel the day we left Coruscant.”

“C'mon Snips, I _let_ you win,” Anakin protested, struggling weakly as Obi-Wan prevented him from rising from the pallet. “You two are a pair of mother si-hens!”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring Anakin's continuing attempts to extricate himself from his master's grip. He looked at her calmly, though the tightness around his eyes said otherwise. “Would you go downstairs and find us all something for dinner? And ask Vax about a fever reducer, if you see him. Stay under your cloak.”

“You are _not_ sending her down there alone,” Anakin nearly spat, lip curling, the Force thickening slightly with protective anger. He swallowed, face settling into that eerily blank mask that he lately seemed to think was somehow better. At least the snarl was _familiar_. “It's not safe,” he said more calmly, though Obi-Wan saw his jaw jump with swallowed tension. “Besides, I am _fine_.”

“If it's all the same to you, _Padawan_ ,” Obi-Wan replied, “I'd rather our best chance at evading Kabalian air defence not pilot us straight into the enemy because he's _fainted at the controls_. You need rest, at the very least. And your padawan is more capable than you realize.”

“I am fully aware of how _capable_ my padawan is – that doesn't mean she should have to be the one being put in danger all the time!”

“Ahsoka will be fine, she's going downstairs, not into a cave of womp-rats. _You're_ the one that looks like he picked a fight with a gundark and lost, might I remind you. I've seen corpses that look healthier than you.”

“ _You_ -”

Obi-Wan watched out of the corner of his eye as Ahsoka inched closer to the door, the hood of her cloak already pulled down to hide most of her face. A hint of worried amusement echoed through the Force.

“I may not have any memory of my birth parents,” she quipped, working the door open with difficulty,“but I've watched enough holodramas with Barriss to know what a married couple sounds like. Be back soon, Masters!” She ducked out of the room, cloak flapping behind her as the door screeched shut.

“ _Ahsoka_ ,” Anakin sputtered, lunging finally with success out of Obi-Wan's now distracted grip. He made it, Obi-Wan noted with faint admiration, three entire steps before tipping sideways once more. What little colour remained in his face disappeared alarmingly and Obi-Wan stepped forward quickly to catch him under the shoulders, drawing a surprised gasp and a pained shock through the Force. Obi-Wan frowned and lowered Anakin slowly onto the pallet, his former apprentice's face grey, his mouth drawn tightly in discomfort. He crouched down once more beside the pallet, knees protesting. Anakin glared at him half-heartedly.

“I'm fine,” he said, voice ragged, eyes glassy.

“Where are you hurt, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked tiredly. “Your ribs -”

“It's nothing,” came the reply, brusque, fearful. “I -”

But his reply trailed off. Obi-Wan had the distinct sense that he was simply too tired to formulate a convincing lie. A hand creeped up, likely unconsciously, to hold the fabric of his tunic (not Jedi-issue - their disguise had warranted a more casual style of dress) more closely against his chest, concealing whatever damage he thought he could hide from Obi-Wan. That he seemed to think Obi-Wan would be content to just _ignore_.

“You must take better care of yourself, Anakin,” Obi-Wan lectured quietly. “It's irresponsible to go on a mission in a state like this.” He paused. “We keep you around for more reasons than just your piloting ability, you know.”

Anakin's eyes were clouded over now, the shadows underneath dark and cavernous. They flicked away, conflicted. He looked a bit mad, Obi-Wan thought vaguely, hair damp and curly with sweat, face pale, the Force swelling like a growing storm around him. Ahsoka had left with whatever mask he had been wearing to put her at ease.

Obi-Wan moved to nudge the hand and the fabric away, put right whatever it was that Anakin was hiding (out of what? Pride? Sheer stupidity? He had the sinking feeling it was neither. For once). Anakin flinched away, a muttered ' _please_ ' escaping his lips but he did not protest.

Obi-Wan paused.

How very unlike his apprentice, to allow anyone to do anything to him without raising a fuss. And that flinch, his expression – it was resigned in a way that was more reminiscent of the frightened nine-year old he had once been than the strong-willed young man he had become, convinced that the slightest defiance would result in a slap across the face. Obi-Wan had worked hard for months to make it known that disagreement or outright disobedience would never result in physical punishment. And his apprentice had _learned_. Learned that it was alright to say no, to disagree, even to disobey, without fear. Maybe a little too well, Obi-Wan thought sometimes, half-heartedly.

He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room settle around his shoulders. Since Mortis - something had _changed_.

“Anakin,” he asked, withdrawing his hand deliberately. “May I look, please?”

Anakin met his gaze in faint surprise before his eyes flicked away again, jaw clenching in conflicted contemplation. He nodded, after a beat, perhaps recognizing the question for the gesture that it was, and withdrew his hand from the material of the tunic. Obi-Wan reached to gently tug the layers of fabric down his former apprentice's shoulder, noted with dismay Anakin's muted wince and the mottled skin that lay underneath, spread across his chest.

His hair raised on end, an unspeakable suspicion burgeoning within his throat.

“Anakin, how did this happen?” he asked, inspecting the injury closer but doing his best not to touch. Even the suggestion of his fingers near the inflamed skin made his apprentice tense. Obi-Wan felt slightly ill at the thought of how exactly Anakin had managed to keep the injury a secret for as long as he had. “This is recent. Were you injured on your mission for the Chancellor?” Obi-Wan couldn't imagine how – his chest had been free of bruising the other night. _This_ – this would have been impossible to miss.

Anakin shook his head, slowly. His hand twitched.

Obi-Wan exhaled in frustration, tugging the tunic back into place. There was nothing that could be done about such injuries without bacta, or ice. His padawan would simply have to wait until they returned to Coruscant. _If_ they managed to return to Coruscant. “But we've been together practically since you returned,” Obi-Wan said, fighting to keep his voice level. It wasn't something he usually attempted to do when communicating with Anakin (in his defence, it wasn't something Anakin usually attempted either, except of late), but something, be it the Force or his own intuition, told him it was a better approach. “Unless you went somewhere while I was sleeping?”

The Force shuddered. “No,” Anakin said miserably, face drawn. “I didn't, Master.”

“I don't understand,” Obi-Wan said, though he thought he was beginning to, some unfortunate realization on the cusp of discovery. “You couldn't have gotten this training with Ahsoka. The only other time we were apart was when you were -”

_With the Chancellor_.

The silence grew. So did the shadows, as a cloud formation drifted in front of the watery moon.

“Anakin. Did he -”

The rueful twist of his former apprentice's face was confirmation enough, even as he was saying, haltingly, 'It's not – quite like you think, Master,” but it didn't matter. He recalled their unfinished, unsettling conversation the other night, the palpable terror he had caught the barest hint of and paled.

_No, no_.

He felt the air leave his chest forcefully, a deep kind of sorrow twisting his stomach, mind doing him the courtesy of flashing back to every moment he'd ever left his young apprentice alone in the Chancellor's company, willfully ignoring the unmistakeable hint of unease he'd felt lately, had seen flit across Anakin's face, and he hadn't listened, he had thought to _wait_ -

“ _Stop_ , Master.”

Obi-Wan realized that it had been several moments before he'd taken a breath, tried in vain to settle the Force around him. Anakin stared back at him, glassy eyes resigned. His shoulders were hunched painfully inwards, hand trembling. His hands were always trembling, lately. “It's okay,” he said quietly. “It's not– I don't -”

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand down his face roughly and closed his eyes, feeling ill. Feeling, Force help him, anger, subtle but _there_ , that this boy that he and Qui-Gon had helped to rescue from the shackles of slavery, that he had all but raised, ( _that he loved_ ), had fallen into entrapment of another kind, a kind that was not so easily escaped.

And guilt. Guilt, because it was likely the very same respect for authority that Obi-Wan had tried his hardest to instill in him that had been so grossly taken advantage of.

_I never could keep you safe. Not from the war. Not from the Sith. And not from this._

It wasn't a surprise. A Jedi, of all people, knew what power did to people.

“How long?” Obi-Wan rasped, opening his eyes. The silence dragged on.

“Just since Mortis.” Surrendered unwillingly. And his apprentice's face shuttered in a different way, some unseen horror snatched away and hidden before the Force could reveal it.

Another blow to the chest. _Months_.

“It's not your fault,” Anakin continued, picking up, perhaps, on the threads of emotions too broad and aching to fully contain. Obi-Wan swallowed harshly. “But, Master – there's -” He trailed off, eyeing Obi-Wan with gut-wrenching trepidation. “There's something else I need to tell you. But I _can't_.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, voice strangled. “ _You can tell me anything_. I promise. I'm sorry if I never made that clear to you before.”

Anakin looked stricken, mouth twisted. “No, no, it's – it's not that I don't want to -”

_There's so much I'd like to tell you_ , the Force whispered.

“I don't – _know how_.”

“Then - don't tell me,” Obi-Wan looked his apprentice in the eye. “Show me.”

Anakin stared at him, mouth working silently, then nodded, head dipping into the room's shadows.

It wasn't often done – diving into someone else's brain was a messy business, even for Jedi. But their bond was unusual, and Anakin was so strong in the Force -

He knew it would work.

“Okay,” Anakin said reluctantly, reaching up a trembling hand to Obi-Wan's temples, his calloused fingers still too warm. His eyes were shining. “But, Master – _I'm sorry._ ”

 

“ _You're going to hate me._ ”

 

 

 

_Mortis. The dark and turbulent sky was unmistakeable. And the ground beneath their feet, unstable and hot, trembled. The Son loomed, hand outstretched, face twisted._

“ _Know yourself,” he said, voice reverberating in the Force. “Know what you will **become**.”_

_Fear. All he knew was fear, that was all that was inside of him, all that was left to feel –_

 

_the knowledge that all things must die._

 

_His heart would break with it. Perhaps it already had. And through this haze of fear -_

“ _\- learn this power?”_

_There was a voice in the darkness, comforting, consoling, wrong -_

“ _ **Not from the Jedi**.”_

_The future swam before him, rising from the ground like smoke, and he knew power like he never had before, the dark side filling in all of the empty spaces in his heart, wrapping around him like a heavy blanket, suffocating. The sound of heavy, mechanical breathing filled his ears._

_This was good, because it drowned out the sound of the dying younglings at his feet, their bodies cut down by his own blade, as the Temple went up in flames around him, as Jedi Masters were sliced in half, as Clovis fell to the ground, as he executed Count Dooku, as he drove his saber through Tal Merrick, as he wrapped the Force around another throat, as his vision went white with rage no one trusted him no one believed in him no one loved him enough to understand **why** -_

_"Why, Anakin?”_

_And the ground was burning and so was the sky and the snap-hiss of a lightsaber being turned on and there was his master, eyes full of tears as he advanced, swinging, and smoke was burning his lungs and his limbs erupted in agony and he knew now what it was to burn alive -_

_Khiss._

_Khiss._

_And there was more, sometimes, an unbearable hint of what might come to pass, the boy and girl that looked so familiar, that looked at him with such pain, but for now -_

_Darth Sidious, imposing figure blocking out the sun, preventing him from taking a breath, turned to face him, eyes both horrible and familiar._

“ _The dark side, of course,” the Chancellor was saying, the Force wrapping menacingly around his throat. “ **It clouds everything**.”_

 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, face damp, numb with horror -

 

_Force, no._

 

\- and Anakin, buried in his shoulder, sobbing desperately but silently.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, finally. Would you believe this scene has been written in some form or another for literally weeks? It's the first part of this story that really came to me, and it's taken me that long to figure out how to get there. So! 
> 
> Now that Obi-Wan, everyone's favourite master planner knows the sitch (well, most of it - ha ha. We'll see how well he handles later...revelations) maybe Ani has a chance at getting out of it? Who knows, man. ;)
> 
> Anyway, I'm super excited about what's coming and I hope you guys are too! Thank you so much for reading - it never ceases to amaze me how kind and supportive this fandom is. 
> 
> See you guys soon!  
> \- W


	9. Chapter 9

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rasped faintly, wanting to comfort but worried about the effects that violent, suppressed sobbing would have on his apprentice's ribs, “Anakin, it's all right.” He was lying. “You must – you must calm down.”

Calm down. The idea was laughable, but he had to try.

It wasn't working. His shirt was damp and his apprentice was still shaking. He didn't – he didn't know what to _do_.

_Focus, Obi-Wan_.

“Anakin,” he said again, gaining some modicum of control, grasping hold of his apprentice's tear-streaked face gently in his hands. “Anakin, breathe. Breathe with me, little one.” Another trick, back from when they had been young. Another one that still worked. Anakin's panicked gasps tapered off slowly, until he was left silent, miserable in Obi-Wan's careful grasp. Heat and self-loathing rolled off of him in waves.

“How can you look at me?” he choked out finally, the Force broiling with distress. “I – the things I will _do_ -”

“That wasn't you.” _That can't have been you_. “Mortis was full of the dark side, Anakin, you know well enough what kind of tricks could have been played on us. You don't know -”

“ _Yes I do_!” Anakin wrenched his face out of Obi-Wan's grasp and stalked away, shoulders heaving, a hand reaching out unsteadily to brace against the wall. “And so do you. Palpatine, he – he wanted me to be his _apprentice_. He talked about it like it was something he'd been planning for years! That vision, that future was barely a step away. _Search your feeling_ , Master,” he said, voice tinged with a familiar, bitter edge. Obi-Wan hadn't heard it in a while. He might have even found it reassuring, a sign that the Anakin he knew and loved still existed underneath the quiet, tormented mask he'd been maintaining. Now it just gave him a chill. “I think you'll find it to be true.”

He was right. The vision had been horrifying, stomach-turning, something pulled from the depths of his most hideous nightmares – and it rang coldly with truth. The Chancellor – their elusive _Sith Lord_ 's actions were proof enough.

They had been so blind.

“You're right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, raising himself from the ground. “I can't dispute what the Force has shown you. But, take it from someone who knows, and who had to learn it the hard way – the future is always in motion. And clearly you've set things on a different path.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know _you_.”

Anakin turned, his mouth twisted bitterly.

“I'm not sure you do,” he said. “I'm not even sure _I_ do. Ever since Mortis, it's all I can think about, all I have thought about, but I still can't – I don't understand _why_.” He looked to Obi-Wan, lost. “ _Why would I_ -” His knees buckled, then, and Obi-Wan swept forward, catching him but cushioning the impact with the Force so as not to jar anything. They sank to the ground together.

“I'm not – not the Jedi I should be,” his apprentice muttered quietly against him, an echo of pain reverberating through the Force. “I know that. I've always known that, I think. But I can't – sometimes I just get so _angry_ , Master. _I want more_ , even though I know I shouldn't.”

Obi-Wan shifted them until they were settled more comfortably against the wall and sighed, unable to dispel the chill brought on by the Anakin he'd felt in the vision. That rage, that hatred, it had been magnified, out of control – but familiar. Underneath it all lay that hot, scouring edge of sheer terror. Terror that sometimes found its exit as anger, as hatred, as blood thirst. But it was all fear.

It had always been fear. He just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

_Neither did you, Master Qui-Gon_.

“I know you do, Anakin. But that's as much my fault as yours. My teachings -”

“ _No_ ,” Anakin protested, tensing even further, if that was possible. He burned against Obi-Wan's shoulder, the Force ebbing and flowing around him erratically. Obi-Wan was dreading Ahsoka's return, but at least then they could deal with the fever. “You – you did the best that you could. I should have listened better. You've been like a father to me, Obi-Wan, and I – _I failed you_.”

“ _You have done no such thing_ ,” Obi-Wan said firmly, ignoring the shudder in the Force, the way the words rang false. “Do not confuse your vision with your reality, padawan. You haven't done anything yet. And I don't think you will.”

Anakin swallowed.

“Master, I -”

“We will work through this together, Anakin,” Obi-Wan promised, cutting him off. It would do neither of them any good to ruminate for too long on the nature of the future, at least at the moment. And he knew, _he knew_ it was wrong, but Anakin's tone had the air of a desperate confession and he -

\- he didn't want to know. Didn't want to know that he'd already failed as a teacher. _Forgive me_.

“But right now you need to rest.” He continued. “These problems will still be here when you wake.”

Anakin's jaw clenched tightly. _I don't deserve rest_ , the Force around him whispered. _I don't deserve anything, not your kindness, not your help_ -

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, more sharply than he wanted to. Anakin blinked up at him, surprised. “As a favour to me,” he said, more gently, pushing a faint sleep suggestion his way. His apprentice's shielding was so faint now that it passed through with ease, Anakin's eyelids starting to droop almost immediately. He was clearly exhausted. He had been for weeks – and now Obi-Wan knew why. No matter what Anakin thought, Obi-Wan at least knew him well enough to guess how well he'd been dealing with the revelations he'd shared. That was to say, badly. The poorly-contained thoughts of self-loathing he kept stumbling upon were proof enough of that.

“Alright,” Anakin said finally, head settling onto Obi-Wan's shoulder, leaking heat. His eyes closed, though his face remained tense. “But then we'll figure out what to do about the Chancellor. Right?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, worry gnawing at his stomach. “Of course.” He hadn't the faintest idea how, yet, in fact had barely managed to quite wrap his head around the fact that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was a Sith Lord, but all good plans took time and careful planning. This one would especially. Palpatine would have to be incredibly, enormously powerful to be able to mask his presence in the Force for so long, and in the presence of the Jedi Council no less. And he was playing a long game – the amount of work that must have gone into his rise to power, the strings he must have pulled, the influence that he had -

He wasn't to be underestimated.

Obi-Wan shuddered slightly at the idea of Anakin under the Sith lord's thumb for so long, stomach churning with guilt that no one had noticed. And the past few weeks -

He wondered darkly whether the damage done to Anakin's chest was all they had to worry about. Once Ahsoka returned, they could put him into a light healing trance and assess for more damage, though neither of them were particularly skilled healers. The rest would have to wait until they returned to Coruscant.

_If they returned to Coruscant_.

Obi-Wan sat like that for some time, brooding (though he would deny it, if anyone caught him), Anakin slumped against his shoulder fast asleep, until the squeal of the door being wrenched open signalled Ahsoka's return and drew him out of his thoughts. She edged through the door, two thermoses and three bowls balanced precariously in her arms, face full of barely contained panic.

“Master Kenobi?” she said, wincing and lowering her voice when she caught sight of her master asleep. “Is – is everything okay? I – _the Force_ -”

“There's -” Obi-Wan began quietly. “The situation has -” He paused. Sighed. “Sit down, Ahsoka.”

“O-kay,” she said, stepping lightly to where Obi-Wan and Anakin sat propped against the wall. She set the thermoses and bowls down in front of her and sat down beside Anakin, leaning against him tiredly. He didn't rouse. Ahsoka looked at Obi-Wan, frowning. “I, um. Vax gave me some soup for the three of us. And some tea, for the fever. He said a bowlful or so every few hours should help.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said. “Here, let's – would you pour some? I'll rouse him.”

Ahsoka poured some of the pungent-smelling liquid into one of the bowls while Obi-Wan reached out through the Force gently. Anakin stirred and Obi-Wan placed a supportive hand behind his head, reaching for the bowl Ahsoka was holding out with the other. He brought it to Anakin's lips.

“Drink this,” he ordered, sighing internally as Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“Smells like Bantha poodoo,” his apprentice muttered, eyes still half shut. Obi-Wan would have liked to say that the fever had loosened his tongue but Anakin had never been particularly inclined to censor himself in front of others, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin. Well, except for lately.

“That's how you know it's good for you,” Obi-Wan answered, long-suffering. “We seem to have this same conversation every year, my young padawan.”

“Never makes it taste any better.”

“Every year since you were _nine_ ,” Obi-Wan continued through gritted teeth. _All thanks to the_ _ **karking**_ _Corellian flu_. “Force help me, Anakin, just drink it so you can go back to sleep?”

Anakin, perhaps sensing the futile nature of resistance, swallowed back the protests Obi-Wan knew were on the tip of his tongue and took a sip of the tea, sputtering only slightly at the taste. “ _E chu ta_ , that's nasty,” he muttered, only managing one more sip before his head rolled back onto his master's shoulder, eyes slipping closed. His presence in the Force felt scattered and muggy, the way it always did when he was ill, but the fog of fever seemed to have taken the edge off of his distress. At least for now.

“That's better than nothing, I suppose,” Obi-Wan remarked quietly, handing the bowl back to Ahsoka. She took a sniff and wrinkled her nose in a similar fashion to her master.

“He's not wrong about the smell,” she said with distaste, placing the bowl on the floor and twisting the lid back onto the thermos. She looked over to Obi-Wan worriedly. “Is he going to be alright?”

“The fever is likely just the flu,” Obi-Wan said, dodging the question. He wouldn't lie to Anakin's padawan. _I'm not sure any of us will be alright_. “He gets it every year, as I'm sure you've noticed. He'll recover.”

“I know, I know,” Ahsoka said hesitantly. “It's just – he's been acting so different lately. He hasn't been taking care of himself. I mean, he didn't really do a very good job of that before, but it's worse now. And -” She glanced at Anakin apologetically before looking Obi-Wan in the eye. “Master, I haven't been yelled at in _weeks_. I know something's wrong. And that disturbance, in the Force? I felt it.” She paused, shuddering. “I was so _cold_. So, please, will you tell me what's going on?”

Obi-Wan's lips pressed together in a grim line.

“You remember Mortis.”

A flash of distant unease rippled through the Force.

“Yes,” Ahsoka said, swallowing.

“You two were both shown the things the Son believed would turn you towards the dark side. Do you...remember what he showed you?” Obi-Wan watched her eyes grow wide.

“No, I don't,” she answered, and he felt the truth of her words in the Force. “Why?”

“Anakin remembers,” he said. Ahsoka paled. “He believes that what he saw was the future. A future in which he falls to the dark side.”

“ _No_ ,” Ahsoka whispered, disbelief colouring her voice. “He would never – _I know him_. And – and the things we were shown on Mortis, they weren't _real_.” She looked up at him uncertainly. “Right?”

Obi-Wan's silence stretched out far too long.

“I would have thought so,” he said finally, too mildly. “But, the vision he received did more than just show him his own fate. It revealed the identity of the Sith Lord we've been looking for.” He looked at Ahsoka almost apologetically, unable to soften the impact. “It's Chancellor Palpatine.”

“ _What_. But, but,” Ahsoka sputtered, fists clenching and unclenching. The blood had drained completely from her face, the white markings stark against the pallor of her skin. “How? And how do you _know_?”

“He sensed Anakin's foreknowledge and revealed himself to him,” Obi-Wan said, trying to calm the panicked current in the Force brought about by Ahsoka's distress. Anakin, being her master, would have done a better job of it. Training bonds were always stronger than the natural connections made between Force users. _She was so young_. “Anakin believes he had – plans for him. Plans that are now disrupted. He's been at his mercy since we returned from Mortis,” he finished, unable to keep a hint of bitter guilt out of his voice.

Ahsoka sagged against the wall, horror leaking out into the Force. “Why didn't he tell anyone?” she whispered.

“Palpatine must have threatened him somehow,” Obi-Wan answered quietly. “I haven't pressed for details yet.”

She shuddered.

“What are we going to do, Master?”

Obi-Wan glanced at his sleeping apprentice, dead to the world and drooling on his shoulder. His brow creased. “I'm not sure, Padawan,” he said. “And I'm not sure now is the right time. Or the right place. For now, we must rest and listen to the Force. Are you hungry?”

Ahsoka glanced at the thermos of soup, still pale. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

“Then sleep, Ahsoka. We all need it. Why don't you take the pallet?”

“If it's all the same to you, Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka said, settling in on Anakin's other side. “I'd rather stay here.”

“Like Master, like Padawan,” Obi-Wan muttered fondly, pushing his worries to the back of his mind. Like he'd said to Anakin earlier; their problems would still be there in the morning. “What will it take to convince you two to sleep on proper surfaces?”

“A miracle?” Ahsoka suggested sleepily, head already cushioned gently against her master's shoulder. “It's how we always sleep when we're on the front. Funny how that almost feels more familiar than sleeping back home at the Temple.”

Obi-Wan felt a pang of sadness, a familiar and frequently repressed horror rising in his gut. _What are we doing?_   _A war is no place for children_. The fact that the war was looking more and more like something that had been deliberately manufactured -

Obi-Wan clenched his back teeth and released the emotion into the Force. It was all too easy these days, to fall into the traps of anger and hatred. They would all have to be careful. It was simple to blame Anakin for his outbursts, chastise him for the roiling anger so often found simmering beneath the surface, but Obi-Wan was himself no stranger to anger, no stranger to cruelty. He abhorred loss of life, would gladly lay down his saber if it meant negotiation instead, but he knew how to fight and he knew how to wound. Sometimes, Force help him, he even enjoyed it. His apprentice was all blunt force, strong blade. His anger had a purity to it – it was selfish but not deliberately cruel. Something instinctive and reactionary. Ahsoka, for all her training, was much the same.

Obi-Wan had always been more subtle. More vicious.

They were all treading a dangerous line. The three of them, maybe the entire Jedi Order, were nearing a tipping point. And it was clear to anyone with the slightest Force-sensitivity that the galaxy hung in the balance.

Anakin shifted slightly, forehead still burning against his shoulder.

_I won't let you fall,_ Obi-Wan thought fiercely. _I won't let **any** of us fall._

He swallowed and did his best to relax against the cool stone of the wall. Ahsoka and Anakin were calm in the Force, for once, sleeping as peacefully as they were able. He should join them.

Exhaling quietly, he mustered a soothing ripple of the Force toward his apprentice, hoping the healing impulses might help trigger a trance. None of the three of them were particularly proficient healers, but perhaps it would do for now. He could rouse himself in a few hours and try to force another few sips of tea down Anakin's throat. Then they could complete their mission on Kabal and work their way towards a next step, find some way to stop the Chancellor without sacrificing the galaxy. Or their lives.

_Trust in the Force, Obi-Wan_ , Qui-Gon's voice whispered to him as he surrendered to the thrall of sleep, the edges of the room growing fuzzy and dark. It was in this time, he had been taught, the nebulous sliver of space between wakefulness and sleep, that the dead often spoke.

 

_I am watching over you_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, poor Obi-Wan. I'm really enjoying poking around in his head. Trying to temper the mush with a little bit of character insight - I'm not super picky, but I do find it a bit jarring in fic when Obi-Wan is portrayed exclusively as this squishy parental figure. I mean, he is totally (and I am completely guilty of this same characterisation, to some extent, hence my efforts here), but he's also literally at least 85% sarcasm and has a mean streak the size of the Sharlissian Trade Corridor. I love the guy, he's a total Mom, but he's also prickly and sarcastic and deadly and not someone you want to mess with. So. I'm trying?  
> Anyways, mostly I'm just super excited about where this is all going and I hope you guys are too! Should see some POV switchup coming next, and some more plot advancement once we wrap up on Kabal. Padme also has to be brought into the loop, of course. ;)  
> As always, thank you for reading! I'm so grateful for any feedback. <3  
> Cheers,  
> \- W


	10. Chapter 10

 

Morning dawned grey and bleak and far too soon.

“ _Drink the tea, Anakin_ ,” Master Obi-Wan demanded for (Ahsoka was keeping track) the fourth time in the six and a half minutes they'd all been awake. Still hunkered down together against the wall in an increasingly discontented huddle, the trauma of last night's revelations was beginning to simmer over into a burgeoning tension. But, of course, as Master Plo had informed her once, smiling wryly, Jedi were never tense or _grouchy_.

Except when they were.

As always, bearing witness to her master and his master's verbal sparring matches left her amused and annoyed in turn – but today, after all that had happened, she found herself a little unnerved. The bickering, for all its frequency, was usually tempered by (at least a little) fondness that softened the blows. But they were all strung-out and exhausted, the future looming ahead of them darkly, and there was a rawness to the two of them that left her worried about the outcome if they didn't stop snapping at each other.

“ _I don't need any tea_ , I feel much better,” her master replied, tone mild but jaw clenched. There was an edge to his voice that she hadn't heard in a while. It wasn't as reassuring to hear as she'd thought it might be. And he was lying, too; he seemed to be in less pain than before – Jedi healed more quickly than non-Force users, especially after having slept - but the tops of his cheeks were still flushed with fever. What little of his presence in the Force that she could feel was muggy and confusing. “We need to work out a plan here before Commander Dovu comes to get us.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan shot back, “a plan for our _departure_ that will likely hinge on your already questionable piloting skills, so forgive me if I'd prefer you to be at least a little bit steadier on your feet before we-”

“Hey, I got us here in one piece didn't I?”

“A miracle of the Force if I've ever seen one -”

“You _promised_ ,” Anakin interrupted. “You promised we'd figure out what to do in the morning.”

Ahsoka watched Obi-Wan's face soften almost imperceptibly.

“I did,” he said quietly, after a moment. “I did say that.” His eyes narrowed. “We can discuss it while you drink the tea.”

Her master's face twitched, a retort on his lips, but he swallowed it back, accepting the compromise with as much grace as he ever did. Ahsoka breathed a quiet sigh of relief and passed her master the thermos, lips twitching as he took it from her resignedly. He took a careful sip, shuddering in disgust.

“Happy, Master?” he asked.

“Not hardly,” Obi-Wan replied, settling back against the wall. “But you're right. Commander Dovu will be here soon. We should use this time to plan.”

“Are we still going to help the Kabalians?” Ahsoka asked, slightly discomfited by the idea of leaving the rebels behind, even if they were dealing with the fate of the galaxy. “We did promise them assistance.”

“I've thought about that,” Obi-Wan said. “Don't worry, Ahsoka. I have some ideas about how we might keep our promise. But first-” He tilted his head towards Anakin, brow furrowed, grim as she'd ever seen him. “I think we need to hear as much as you can remember about this future, Anakin. And as much as you've been able to find out about how far the Chancellor's reach extends.”

Anakin paled further, if that was possible, setting the thermos down on the floor with a shaking hand. “Far,” he said quietly. “It extends far. Force, Master, I think he's backing the Separatists too, playing us against one another. He's been planning this for – for years. And I know for a fact that no Republic affiliation is safe from him. Maybe not even the Jedi. He's got eyes everywhere.”

“He threatened you,” Obi-Wan said, eyes darkening. “To keep you from exposing him.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah. With – he knows - ” Her master's eyes shifted to the floor. “But it wasn't going to work. Until he threatened you too.”

Ahsoka felt cold fear slither up her throat. “He couldn't do that,” she protested softly, unwilling to believe it. “Wouldn't it raise suspicion, if any one of us died under mysterious circumstances? The Council would know something was wrong.”

“I'm not so sure they would,” Obi-Wan said darkly. A flicker of guilt, the barest hint, escaped into the Force before it was carefully shuttered away. “Not lately. And if Anakin's account is correct, then the Chancellor is excellent at covering his tracks.”

“He said he'd make it look like an accident,” Anakin blurted out, eyes still fixed firmly on the floor. “Missing-in-action. A mission gone wrong. So many Jedi have been lost in this war -”

“It would have escaped suspicion.” Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand down his jaw tiredly. “And he must have known the Council would never act on your word alone. Well, this certainly isn't going to be easy. If his surveillance is as extensive as you say-”

“It _is_ ,” Anakin said firmly. “And he's strong in the dark side. The things he can do-” A shudder, a carefully neutral tone, horror and admiration tamped down in equal measure. A chill ran up Ahsoka's spine. “I'm not sure we're a match for him. Not as we are now.”

“ _We_ won't be facing him alone,” Obi-Wan said. “I'll make sure of it. Our priority right now is to simply get the word out. We must alert the Jedi Council. From there we can follow their lead.”

Anakin shifted, face pinched with worry. “I'm – I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he said uncertainly. “It won't be that simple. There's -” he frowned, shaking his head. “I have a bad feeling,” he said, glancing up at Obi-Wan helplessly. “The vision wasn't clear enough. There's too much we don't know.”

“Well, what do you remember?” Obi-Wan asked mildly, carefully. “Whatever you can tell us might make the picture clearer.”

The Force twinged with faint distress.

“There isn't much that's – _relevant_ ,” her master replied, jaw twitching. “It's all a blur. I get the feeling that he – that I – that this _Vader_ wasn't overly concerned with the politics of it all.”

“I suppose some things never change.”

“Very funny, Master.” Anakin paused and took another sip of tea from the thermos, clearly stalling. Ahsoka watched the early morning sun filter in through the window, throwing watery shadows on the barren and dusty floor. “I don't think the Chancellor really put his final plans in motion until much later in the war. Things felt more urgent. I – I think there was an attack on Coruscant. Lead by Grievous. It was chaos.” He closed his eyes, clearly struggling to remember. “Dooku was there and I – he – _future me_ executed him. At the Chancellor's request.” His glassy eyes flew open, sliding almost nervously towards Obi-Wan's.

Awaiting judgement, Ahsoka thought. Awaiting judgement for things he hadn't even done.

“In cold blood?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, reluctantly. If only her master could see what she did. There was no judgement in those eyes. Only a quiet kind of sadness.

“He was conflicted, I think,” her master said, swallowing. “But – but he was glad to do it.”

 _'Would you be glad to do it?'_ neither of them asked. They knew what the answer would be.

“It gets less clear after that,” her master continued, skirting over the details of what he deemed less _relevant_. Ahsoka found herself ashamed at the relief she felt. “But – it's awful. The Temple _burned_. The galaxy fell directly under the Chancellor's control. I don't - I don't know exactly how, just that it did. And I think – I think the clones -” he trailed off, clearly puzzled.

“You think the clones are somehow mixed up in all of this?” Ahsoka asked, startled. “But they're loyal to the Jedi. They would never turn against us,” she said, thinking of Captain Rex and the 501st. They were brave and honourable. And her friends.

“Loyal to the _Republic_ ,” Obi-Wan muttered, frowning. “And I must admit, the creation of the clones – well, there's still a fair amount of uncertainty as to who ordered them in the first place. And _why_. I haven't thought much about it in years, but given the circumstances...”

“ _Him_ ,” Anakin said, tensing. “The Chancellor. It must have been. Or someone under his influence. He knew there was going to be a war. Why else would he order us our very own army?”

“An army loyal only to the Republic, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Kaminoans and the Senate,” Obi-Wan mused. “Even Master Shaak-Ti doesn't know everything about how they are created. The templates are a closely guarded secret.” He breathed out a deep sigh. “That is troubling. We'll simply have to prepare ourselves for the possibility that our friends are not who we think them to be.”

Anakin nudged her gently with his shoulder, lips twisted sympathetically. Ahsoka smiled back sadly, heart aching at the thought of their friends turning against them. She couldn't imagine it. And yet -

She couldn't deny that it was possible. Nothing in the galaxy seemed certain anymore.

“Now,” Obi-Wan said, drawing their attention back to him. His eyes were narrowed, hand rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “We must think about our next steps. I know you have reservations, Anakin, but if we want to put an end to this madness we must alert the Council. We can't simply run.”

Anakin paused for a moment, and said, “I know. Okay, shoot. What's your idea, Master?”

Obi-Wan leaned forward.

“I think we should return to Coruscant immediately. We can use your illness as an excuse,” he said, gesturing to her master, who frowned. “The Council will send replacements, so the Kabalian rebels will still receive the help we promised them. From there, we can -”

“There's one more thing,” her master interrupted, reluctantly. “We need to get Padmé out of there before we do anything. He threatened her too, and I don't want her getting caught up in the crossfire.”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“I know you and the Senator are – _close_ ,” Obi-Wan said carefully, after a moment. “But why would the Chancellor threaten her specifically?” He looked a bit like he didn't want to know. Ahsoka leaned forward with interest.

“Uh.” Her master's face twisted slightly, still unnaturally flushed. There was another moment of uncomfortable silence as he worked through whatever internal conflict he was struggling with. “It's, um – well, you see – because. Oh, kriff. I guess this is as bad a time as any.”

He took a deep breath and muttered something that sounded distinctly like ' _forgive me, Padmé_ ,' under his breath.

“We're married?”

Obi-Wan choked.

Ahsoka let out a whoop and sprung from the ground, spinning to face them. She grinned. “Rex owes me fifty credits,” she said smugly.

“ _Really_ , Snips?”

“It's not like the two of you are _subtle_ about it, Skyguy,” Ahsoka retorted, returning to her spot on the ground. “At least half of the 501 st has a standing bet on whether you'd actually made a move or not.”

“That...is _totally not appropriate._ But very impressive,” her master said, sneaking a chagrined glance towards Obi-Wan, who had yet to react beyond a miniscule and frightening twitch of his lower left eyelid.

“How long?” he asked mildly.

Anakin winced. “Uh. Since the start of the war?”

The eyelid twitch became more pronounced.

“I – _we_ were going to tell you. After the war, I mean. Once everything had settled down.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I know it's against the Code, Master, and I'm prepared to deal with the consequences or – or resign from the Order if necessary and I'm sorry I didn't tell you or the Council but I knew they'd throw me out and I didn't want to disappoint you and I don't really know how to be anything but a Jedi and with the war going on I couldn't stand the thought of leaving everyone to fight without me and now with all of this -”

“ _Ana_ -kin,” Obi-Wan said, exasperated. Then, more seriously. “Do you truly love her?”

Her master swallowed. “More than anything,” he said, deadly certain. “More than life.”

Which was a typically dramatic statement, Ahsoka thought fondly, but endearingly genuine.

Obi-Wan sighed and leaned tiredly against the wall. “Well, I won't pretend I don't know what you're talking about.” Ahsoka caught a pained and all-too-brief flash of a woman's white-toothed smile and blonde hair through the Force. Her master blinked, surprised. “And you're correct in thinking that it's not something the Council will just dismiss.” _Especially because it's you we're talking about_ , he didn't say. “But now is perhaps not the best time. We can discuss this in more depth when this is all over. I see no reason to trouble the Council with it right now. I'm sure they have suspicions of their own, in any case.” He glanced back at Anakin, smiling wryly. “Ahsoka's right – it's not as though you two were ever particularly subtle.”

Anakin blinked, disturbed. “Well, that's – that's. Okay. Um, great.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan said, a little too brusquely. “Now, back to our plan. As I was saying, we'll return to Coruscant and get the Council to send a replacement team. We'll send Ahsoka to fetch Senator Amidala, then -”

“ _Carefully_ ,” her master interrupted. “We need a legitimate excuse. He'll be watching. Maybe – maybe I should -”

“ _You_ ,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “will be going nowhere but the Healer's Ward until either Ahsoka or I come to get you.”

“What?” he sputtered. “No, no kriffing way, Master -”

“Think about it,” Obi-Wan cut in. “It's the only way to keep you out of the Chancellor's grasp when we return. Isn't he likely to call you to him to report on what happened? You have no way of refusing him without raising suspicion and as soon as he lays eyes on you he'll know exactly what's going on. But he in turn won't be able to summon you from the Healers without raising suspicion himself.”

“I'm not a complete amateur, Master. I can shield my thoughts from him,” her master retorted, though with his shields in the state they were Ahsoka thought that was at the very least a slight exaggeration if not an outright lie. “Maybe I could keep him occupied while you get Padmé,” he suggested unsteadily, clearly uncomfortable. “I don't like the idea of -”

“Of being separated from the action,” Ahsoka finished for him, ignoring the startled glare she got in return. “Don't worry, Skyguy. I've dropped in on the Senator before, to ask for advice. I can get her out of there without raising any eyebrows. And unlike some of us, I'm good at being subtle.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan interjected before Anakin could reply. “Ahsoka will fetch the Senator and bring her back to the Temple while I inform the Council of what has happened. The Chancellor will be apprehended and all three of us will be safely out of his grasp beforehand, no matter what happens. He'll be no match for the Council.”

“We've got this, Master,” Ahsoka said.

Anakin frowned, even as he nodded. “I – I'm still not sure about this. He'll have planned for things like this.” He looked up. “But I can't think of any other way to do it.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I'm with you, Master, Ahsoka. Let's take him down.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, finally. So sorry this has taken so long to get here everyone! But it's finals season and i am dying slightly so I'm afraid updates are gonna be a bit less consistent these next few weeks. My apologies! I have every intention of finishing this, not to worry. That being said, I have had to do some canon diving lately in order to make the plot do what i want it to (man, keeping track of all the threADS this early on in the clone wars is tricky as all hell and I'm sure I've missed some things, but whatever - don't even talk to me about maul and dooku rn i have no clue what happens to them yet haha) so that also takes up a little more time than usual.  
> This chapter was very talky, and I apologize, but it's all necessary for what's coming up. ;) I think poor Obi-Wan has had just about all the shocks he can take lately - too bad Anakin is still keeping a few Important Details close to his chest. It's not like that's gonna come up to bite him in the ass anytime soon. Aha. Ha. Ha.  
> I struggled a little bit with the whole Padme revelation thing, because while it's definitely something that can be played for humour I didn't want to minimize the impact of it either - that's a major violation of the Code right there, and while Obi-Wan cares for Anakin and Padme and wants them to be happy, at this point he's still very much the Council's man, despite his new reservations. I think he's torn between being kind of hurt that Anakin felt he couldn't tell him and hurt that Anakin went against the Code in that way in the first place. And Anakin has probably always wanted to tell him but a) didn't want to put that kind of pressure on Obi-Wan and b) didn't want to potentially get kicked out of the Order. When he married Padme he's definitely in that stage where he thinks Obi-Wan would totally just shove him in front of the Council and let them deal with it if he ever found out - by now I think he's figured out that his master is a little bit more nuanced than that. Anyways, the issue is totally not dealt with - they've both just decided to shove it under the rug for now and hash it out later.  
> And Ahsoka don't care - she's too much like her master to give too much thought to the Jedi Code, I think, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone (oh honey) and she just wants them to be happy. I've finally caught up with Rebels, and so I thought she deserved a whole chapter from her perspective (honestly just kill me now Dave i stg that finale ruined me i was noT PREPARED).  
> This was a really long chapter note, whoops. Oh well - as always, thank you all for reading and please let me know what you thought! And where you think all this is going ;) I'm always curious to see what people think. Until next time!  
> \- W


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final down, many to go! In the meantime, enjoy.

“ - fever, recent damage to the upper chest, and sudden and massive calcification of the skeletal structure brought on by exposure to large amounts of -”

“Electricity,” Obi-Wan completed the medical droid's analysis grimly, glancing down to where his former apprentice lay in a drug-induced sleep, curls splayed against the stark white pillows native to the Hall of Healing. He hadn't gone down willingly, but Obi-Wan knew he understood the importance of sticking with the plan. He likely understood less Obi-Wan's own concern for his health, frustratingly.

The high, lofty ceilings of the hall, meant to evoke peace and serenity, did nothing of the sort, though Obi-Wan tried. There had been too many mishaps, they had endured too much here. He couldn't imagine what the tall white walls made Anakin feel, wondered if every time he woke up to them he remembered what it had been like to wake up missing a hand.

For Obi-Wan it simply served to remind him of all of his own mistakes.

Their departure from Kabal had gone more smoothly than any of them had expected – Commander Dovu had been clearly disappointed, but she was a consummate professional, and devoted to her cause. He hoped the replacements called in by the Council would provide the rebels with what they needed – the retaking of Kabal would be a boon the Republic desperately needed. Especially now. They had returned to the spaceport under cover, and had managed to leave without being detained, spared the excitement that usually accompanied their sudden departure from hostile planets. Whatever distraction Commander Dovu had come up with the other night to attract the attention of the Separatist military had worked. Upon their return to Coruscant, Obi-Wan had accompanied Anakin to the healers, while Ahsoka went to get the Senator. So far, everything seemed to be unfolding as planned – he could only wonder when it would all eventually fall apart.

“The condition is characterized by symptoms such as muscle pain, weakness, and blurred vision, among others, though the patient has exhibited no potential cardiac symptoms. Suggested treatment would typically be bacta submersion,” the medical droid continued, oblivious to Obi-Wan's inner turmoil. “Unfortunately the patient was not treated in a timely enough manner and the condition has become chronic.”

“Chronic?” Obi-Wan asked, startled out of his thoughts. “I'm afraid I don't understand. This has never been an issue before. And we've encountered this type of electricity more often than most, I think you'll find.”

“Precisely the issue,” the droid countered dispassionately. “The effects of Force lightning have not been previously well understood or well documented, so prior treatment was not sufficient. Recommendations have been made for all beings exposed over the course of the war to be re-evaluated. Previous exposure likely made whatever recent exposure the patient has been subjected to more potent. This recent exposure alone was also clearly more concentrated than that experienced in the past. My apologies.”

Obi-Wan sank onto the cot, scrubbing a calloused hand down his beard. “The apology is mine,” he said quietly, though the words were not directed towards the medical droid. “Besides that, will he be alright?”

“Medication and bacta have been administered. Master Vokara Che will determine any further course of treatment. The patient requires rest,” was all the droid said. “A painkilling regimen will be prescribed once the patient awakens, to manage the condition.”

“Good luck with that,” Obi-Wan muttered fondly, rising from the cot. “Can you provide me with a medical scan showing the calcification? One with official documentation, if you wouldn't mind.”

“Certainly,” the droid said, sensors whirring. It moved to the data centre behind the cot. “It will take a moment.”

“Master Kenobi,” a familiar and huskily-accented voice said from behind him. “It's been a while since I've seen you in here.”

 

“Master Che,” Obi-Wan turned to face the Chief Healer, inclining his head respectfully. “I would have thought you'd be glad of that.”

“Oh, I am,” the older Twi'lek assured him, smiling gently. She glanced towards Anakin's prone form and moved closer. “You seem to attract more trouble between the two of you than half the Jedi Order alone. I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you arrived.” She inclined her eyebrows wryly. “It's Corellian flu season.” She scanned the readout of the data above his apprentice's cot with interest, frowning. “Running your master ragged, still, young Skywalker?” she mused quietly.

“Through no fault of his own, Master Che,” Obi-Wan was quick to defend, ignoring the wry ' _for once_ ' that echoed through the Force in return. Master Che had always found his apprentice...difficult to deal with. Obi-Wan was sympathetic to this point of view, having spent the past thirteen years in close quarters with him, but he had always found her disapproval slightly unwarranted. “The past few months have been...difficult.”

“I see.” She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the readout. “Have the two of you been fighting Sith lords, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“It's – rather a long story,” Obi-Wan hedged. _And I'm afraid that's not the half of it_.

Vokara Che huffed, clearly unsatisfied, but removed a small healing crystal from within her robes and placed it on Anakin's chest, choosing to ignore his reticence for now. Though frequently at the interrogative mercy of the Council, the Jedi healers were, when it suited them, capable of extreme discretion. When they felt it was warranted. In Obi-Wan's case (and, he thought, likely grudgingly in Anakin's) it very often was. Eyes closing delicately, she channeled the Force through the crystal, healing. Obi-Wan watched, gratified, as his apprentice's forehead smoothed slightly, the unnatural flush receding somewhat from where it had been settled on the tops of his cheeks. Vokara Che opened her eyes.

“There's not much to be done that hasn't already,” she explained quietly. “These ailments are relatively small but they are compounded by exhaustion. Rest is what he needs the most.”

 _And rest is what continually eludes him_ , Obi-Wan thought grimly, grateful for the drug-induced sleep his apprentice was currently under. He had the feeling sleep of the natural kind would still be hard to come by, as it had been in the previous weeks. “Yes, Master Che,” he said. “I'll do my best to make sure he follows your recommendations.”

“You are not the boy's keeper, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Master Che said, though there was gentleness in the rebuke. “He's not a padawan any longer.”

“I do believe we've had this discussion before, Master Che,” Obi-Wan said, smiling sadly.

“I do believe you're right,” she replied. “And clearly you've learned nothing. His mistakes are not your own. And his condition is not your fault.” Her face softened, glancing down at Anakin. “I think he would be the first to agree with me.”

It was perhaps the nicest thing she'd ever had to say about his erstwhile apprentice, and he wasn't even awake to hear it.

And it was true. Anakin had told him as much.

Somehow that did little to dissolve the ever present lump of sorrow that had taken up space in his gut, ever since everything had been revealed to him.

“Forgive me, Master,” he said, resisting the urge to adjust one of Anakin's curls and risk further lecture on the dangers of attachment. “I don't mean to take your advice lightly.”

“You never do,” Vokara Che said, a hint of exasperated fondness colouring her voice. “The droid will provide you with the documents you've requested. Leave young Master Skywalker here to rest overnight. I'll release him in the morning with further instructions.” She turned to leave, long robes sweeping elegantly against the light and glossy floor. “And, Obi-Wan. Please get some rest yourself. This war is taking a terrible toll on us all; we must take care of ourselves when we can.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan muttered, nodding respectfully as she left. “When we can.”

 

*

 

“Ahsoka, you know I'm always happy to see you, but now is really not a great time,” Senator Amidala was saying, eyes and smile tight as she shuffled slips of flimsi around her desk. Her hair was swept up away from her face in one of the many elaborate styles Ahsoka was always so fascinated by, her dark purple gown as fashionable as always, but she was clearly stressed. A few strands of hair had escaped from one of the complicated looking braids near the top of her head. “I've got an important meeting in ten minutes, and I really can't -”

“I know, I know,” Ahsoka interrupted, mind racing. She had to get Padmé out of here, and she had to do it – subtly. But fast. “This will only take a minute, I absolutely promise, Senator. It's _really_ important.”

Something in her voice must have tipped Padmé off. She glanced up from the piles of flimsi, frowning.

“Ahsoka, is something -”

Ahsoka shook her head sharply, gesturing with her eyes as subtly as possible to the holocam situated benignly outside the Senator's office. She reached up absently with a finger, ostensibly to scratch an itch, and tapped her ear, lips pressed together grimly.

Padmé's eyes darted to the holocam briefly, brow creasing. She nodded back at Ahsoka, discreetly, though her unease was palpable even without the Force.

“Well, I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Let's walk,” she suggested brusquely, knuckles white against the stack of flimsi she had grabbed. Ahsoka followed her out of the office and into the Senate's busy hallway, dodging a harried-looking aid and a droid in rapid pursuit. Ahsoka bit her lip, heart pounding. They had only walked the length of one corridor before Padmé clipped the elbow of a passing Rodian, spilling her sheets of flimsi on the ground. The two women ducked down to shuffle them back together, ignoring the epithets being hurled their way overhead as people were forced to go around them.

Ahsoka tucked her chin nearer to her chest, head tipped away from the ever present gaze of the holocam. In the bustle of the hallway, their mouths hidden, they wouldn't be overheard.

“Senator, you need to leave here with me, _right now_ ,” Ahsoka said urgently, voice pitched low. “You're in danger. I don't have time to explain.”

Padmé's facial expression didn't change, a slight narrowing of the eyes the only outward indication of any distress. She was good. Ahsoka wondered, fleetingly, how many times she had kicked her master's ass at sabbac.

 _Probably more times than he would ever admit_.

It was strange, to think of them together like that. Though she had clearly bet on the winning side, the betting itself had always had an element of jest – the idea of a married Jedi was unthinkable. Irreconcilable with the Jedi Code. But she couldn't find it within herself to be angry – the flaw of attachment aside, for which they'd all been criticized far too many times to count, she couldn't see, objectively, what was so wrong with loving someone else. Of course she knew the old Jedi adage as well as any other padawan did – it was drilled into them all practically from birth. Attachment lead to fear, to anger, to hatred.

But her master had lived the first nine years of his life without any such saying dominating his life. And he and Senator Amidala made each other _happy_ , in a way that was different but similar in the same breath to the way she felt about Rex and the clones, about Barriss, about Anakin and Obi-Wan and the Senator. Her family. _One that she'd made_.

She'd never breathe a word of a thought like that out loud. It was the antithesis of everything she'd ever been taught by the Jedi.

But not what she'd been taught by Anakin Skywalker.

“I wasn't kidding about this being a bad time,” Padmé whispered back, gathering the last of the flimsi in her hands. “But alright. I expect a full explanation once we're clear of surveillance, though, Padawan Tano.”

“You'll get it,” Ahsoka promised, helping Padmé to her feet. They continued down the corridor again, this time headed to the speeder Ahsoka had illegally double parked (her master would have been proud) right outside the south entrance. They would be long gone before anyone noticed. Ahsoka smoothed the nervous frown from her brow, breathing out calmly. She placed a hand on the Senator's back.

There was another thing she had learned from Anakin Skywalker that he had probably never meant to teach.

 _Family was to be protected_.

 

*

 

 

Obi-Wan entered the Council chambers, a freshly printed medical scan clenched between his fingers. It was nearing evening now, the sun low in the sky and casting long afternoon shadows across the chamber's floors and its scant members. Master Yoda and Kit Fisto were on Mon Cala, dealing with the secession of the Quarren, while various others were also away on missions or on the front lines. That left Mace Windu in charge, along with the Adi Gallia, Saesee Tinn, Ki-Adi Mundi, and Agen Kolar currently sitting within the council chambers. It was possible that there were others on Coruscant and simply otherwise engaged, but even still -

The odds weren't stacked quite as highly as Obi-Wan would have liked them to be.

“Masters,” he said in greeting, bowing his head. Master Windu rose to greet him, inclining his own head in turn.

“Master Kenobi.”

“Thank you for agreeing to convene the Council, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said, choosing to remain standing. He barely noticed the visible disapproval over the breach of protocol, his calm state of mind something that had taken far more prior meditation than he wanted to think about. He was sunk deeply into the Force, had dug his heels into its current in an attempt to find some peace of mind, some reprieve from the worries that plagued him. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Circumstances you failed to elaborate on in your earlier message,” Master Gallia interjected mildly. “Are you going to keep us hanging much longer, Master Kenobi?”

“Perhaps you'd first like to explain your departure from Kabal, “ Master Windu said. “We approved it, but there is some question remaining as to the appropriateness of your actions.” He paused. “It's the Council's understanding that Skywalker took ill. Ill enough that you felt you had to leave a potentially vulnerable group of rebels to fend for themselves until replacements could arrive?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, since it wasn't technically a lie. “However, that's not why I asked for the Council to be convened. I'm afraid that over the past few days I've come across information relating to our search for the Sith Lord that is highly disturbing.”

The Council Chamber had been quiet before, but now an eerie hush fell over the room. Obi-Wan sighed, quietly. This was going to take some explaining. And some backtracking on his part – he cursed silently, unable to quite regret not mentioning his padawan's brief slip into the dark on Mortis, even though it was likely to get him in hot water now.

“You recall our encounter with the planet Mortis a few months ago?” he asked quietly, Anakin's scans clenched between his fist. He hoped the official seal wasn't being damaged. There was a quiet murmur of assent that rippled throughout the room. He continued. “While there, unbeknownst to me, my pa- Master Skywalker was given a vision by the Son, one of the manifestations of the Force. A vision of the future.”

“And Skywalker didn't think to _mention_ this to the Council?” Saesee Tiin asked, frowning.

“Are we surprised?” Adi Gallia wondered dryly.

“He didn't even tell me,” Obi-Wan replied, treading carefully. He didn't want to think about how the Council might react to his apprentice's more personal future. “I – I believe,” _I know,_ “that he found the vision to be quite upsetting. I don't think he believed the entirety of it, at first.”

“The entirety of it? Master Kenobi, what exactly was Skywalker shown in this vision?” Master Windu rose from his seat, frowning at him. He was steady in the Force, as always, but clearly able to sense that not all was right.

Obi-Wan forced himself to keep his head forward, mouth dry.

“The future of the Jedi Order. The identity of Darth Sidious.” He paused, forcing the words out through an unwilling tongue. “It's the Chancellor.”

The chamber erupted, as much as any chamber full of senior members of the Jedi Council could. Master Windu was eventually forced to raise his voice, a bellowed “Silence, silence!” enough to calm the ensuing panic.

“Master Kenobi, that is a serious accusation,” Master Windu said gravely, eyes doubtful. “Your own feelings aside, do you have any proof?”

“I've seen the vision myself. Anakin shared it with me on Kabal. But as a matter of fact,” Obi-Wan said grimly, forcing his fist to unclench, “the physical proof is in Anakin himself. The Chancellor somehow gained knowledge of his foresight, all those months ago. He's been blackmailing him ever since.” He paused, a surge of guilt rising up his throat. “You all know what Anakin is like – he's not the type to simply lie down and take it. But his defiance has had...consequences. ” He ignored the alarmed chatter that followed, bringing the medical scans up and handing them to Master Windu. “These are officially documented scans showing severe calcification of the skeletal system. The kind of damage that could only be caused by frequent and repeated exposure to -”

“Sith lightning,” Master Windu finished, frowning. Then, “These scans. They belong to Anakin Skywalker.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, face drawn tightly. “Master Vokara Che can confirm it. And Council records will confirm that we've had no encounters with anything that could generate that sort of current within the time frame indicated.”

“And Skywalker, he could corroborate what you're telling us?” Master Windu had gone very still, the scans held stiffly in his hands. “That the Chancellor of the Republic is the Sith Lord Darth Sidious?”

“Yes. But he's currently indisposed.”

The older Jedi Master shook his head slowly, glancing once more at the scans in his hand. He paused, mouth tightening, as realization dawned.

“Those missions for the Chancellor. He wasn't going on them willingly.”

Obi-Wan met his eyes. “Yes.”

“Why didn't Skywalker tell anyone that this was happening?” Adi Gallia asked, brow creasing. “Why didn't anyone notice?”

Obi-Wan swallowed.

“The Chancellor is strong in the Force, and clearly skilled in the art of psychological manipulation. Anakin believed that he would sense any deception on his part, and I'm not sure he was wrong to think so.” His fist clenched once more. “And... myself and Padawan Tano were threatened to ensure his cooperation.”

Master Windu handed back the scans, face grim. “Too much heart was always Skywalker's problem,” he said, voice surprisingly gentle. “But clearly he has suffered for our ignorance. We won't let it continue.” It was as much an acknowledgement of wrongdoing as Obi-Wan had ever received. Anakin likely would have collapsed from the shock.

Master Windu stepped back, so that he could address the entire Council, rich voice booming. He cut a noble silhouette against the glow of the setting sun. “I sense the truth of Master Kenobi's words in the Force. Too long has the Senate and this Order been clouded by the dark side. Master Yoda is not here to guide us, but I do not believe he would want us to sit on this issue for very long. Time may be of the essence.” He took a breath, eyes narrowing. “I move that we put together a task-force of sorts, to confront Darth Sidious and arrest him so that he might stand trial before the Jedi Order. All in favour?”

Obi-Wan watched, lungs stalling, as each member of the Council present raised their hand in favour. Distantly, he realized his own hand was moving upwards, almost of its own accord. The Force _twisted_ , something final and unchangeable falling into place.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He did nothing.

“Then it is settled. We will depart as the sun sets,” Master Windu said, inclining his head to the seated council members. One by one they stood to leave, the Council chambers silent and grim. He turned back to Obi-Wan.

“I'm going to ask that you remain here,” he said.

Obi-Wan frowned, mouth opening to protest. “I really -” he began to say.

“At least one member of the Council should remain at the Temple,” Mace clarified. “You've already been threatened by Sidious. Let us handle this, Obi-Wan. Look after your padawan. Besides,” he said, one eyebrow raised in a rare display of wry humour, “someone needs to comm Master Yoda and inform him of these recent developments and between the two of us, I would rather it not be me.”

“When you put it like that,” Obi-Wan said, acquiescing. He paused, the shadows in the room growing as the sun slipped behind Coruscant's skyline. He couldn't help but feel vaguely...unsettled. “You will be careful, Mace? Darth Sidious is not to be underestimated. He's been planning all of this for a very long time.”

Master Windu clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly as the sun disappeared completely from the sky, a predatory glint in his eye.

“Not to worry, Obi-Wan. After all, Sith Lords are our specialty.”

 

*

 

Anakin surfaced slowly into wakefulness with a discontented groan, the Force prodding him gently away from sleep. His jaw clenched in frustration as the unfortunately familiar lofty ceiling of the Temple's Hall of Healing loomed above him. He shifted uncomfortably, head fuzzy with the leftovers of whatever drugs they'd pumped him full of to put him to sleep, only to become aware of the presence of his master, perched on the edge of the cot with a commlink clenched between white-knuckled fingers. The other hand was pressed gently to Anakin's forehead. The Force whirled with unacknowledged tension, some unspoken worry filling up the empty spaces in the room.

He had a feeling like he'd missed something momentous.

“You let them drug me,” he accused fuzzily, cataloguing vaguely the various aches and pains that seemed unwilling to leave him completely. Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, comforting Force presence curling away with him. They'd taken the liberty of repairing his hand, at least. He frowned, dim memories of the past few hours spilling back into his brain. “ _And_ you let them carry me out of the freighter in front of an entire GAR regiment.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Obi- Wan said, though it was clearly evening. The lighting was on its dimmer nighttime cycle, the soothing white of the healing chamber bathed in a softer, warmer glow. “And for the record, you were hardly in a state to complain. It added to the sincerity of the operation. Palpatine could hardly say that you were being kept from him when the entire landing bay saw you being carried out on a stretcher.”

“Right,” Anakin replied, not convinced in the slightest. He leveraged himself into a sitting position with a grunt, ignoring his old master's disapproving frown. “Well? Is everything going according to plan?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, strangely subdued. “It's all gone exactly as planned.”

“Which means you're sitting here worrying yourself into an aneurysm because it's about time for something to go horrifically wrong.”

“Am I really so transparent?”

“Painfully so, Master.” Anakin swung his legs over the cot and paused, head tilted. “You know, for someone who's idea of a good plan is usually just to jump in from the window with your lightsaber engaged and hope for the best, you seem unusually worried about this.”

“This coming from the man who's idea of a good plan is not to have a plan in the first place?”

Anakin shrugged, wincing slightly. “I'm good at improvising.”

“Lucky for us,” Obi-Wan retorted. Then, “It's nothing. The Force just feels...unsettled.”

Anakin watched his master for a moment, took in the tight shoulders and the stiff back that meant the Force was trying to tell him something. His master's precognition was notoriously unpredictable, and not especially useful, as far as Anakin could tell, unless it's purpose was to drive his master into an early, worry-induced grave. He hid it well, locked away under that calm Jedi exterior, but Anakin could always tell. When Obi-Wan Kenobi worried, you _listened_.

“I'm sure this will work out, Master.” It was all he had to offer. “Has Ahsoka gone to fetch Padmé?”

He winced slightly, unsure still how his master was handling the revelation that his already wayward apprentice had in fact broken the Jedi Code years beforehand, but it garnered no outward reaction.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “In fact, I'm waiting for her to contact us. We'll join them outside. Master Windu has assembled a team to go apprehend the Chancellor. They'll be arriving there soon.”

Anakin frowned. “You didn't join them?”

A sharp, dry look. “I was needed elsewhere.”

Anakin felt colour rise in his cheeks and bit back a defensive retort, borne of guilt. He frowned, instead, something causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. “You think they can do it?”

“It's five fully-trained Jedi against one Sith lord,” Obi-Wan said, exhaling. “If they can't take him down...”

“Then we're in bigger trouble than we thought,” Anakin finished, shoulder hunching inwards. The motion pulled at muscles that felt cramped and tight. He shifted in discomfort.

“Are you in pain?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning. “You aren't technically supposed to be awake yet, but I thought it best to rouse you before we had to meet Ahsoka and Padmé. I'll fetch Master Che -”

“No,” Anakin insisted, reaching out to snag at his master's cloak. “It's fine. Everything just...aches, a little. It'll go away.”

His master looked away from him, exhaling softly. “I'm not so sure it will, Anakin. Your skeletal system has been calcified.”

“ _What_?”

“Calcified,” Obi-Wan explained, “by the exposure to Force lightning. It's easily treatable, but if left it becomes a chronic condition. And you never sought out treatment. Did you?”

Anakin swallowed, frowning. “No,” he said reluctantly, heart sinking in his chest. Chronic. _Kriffing hells_. “He didn't – he told me not to raise suspicion. And – and we've all been electrocuted before. I didn't realize.”

“Neither did we. It's not your fault, Anakin, I'm sorry if I sound frustrated. This is,” his master scrubbed a hand across tired eyes. “not what I ever intended for you.”

“I know,” Anakin said quietly. “But. It's not your fault either, Master.” He paused, seeing an opening. “Master. There's – there's something I think I should -”

Obi-Wan looked at him sharply, something almost guilty crossing his face, which was ridiculous, because if anyone was the guilty party here it was Anakin himself and if he could just _tell someone_ , someone who wasn't Padmé, but someone who deserved to know then at least he could finally move on, even if he was hated for it, even if it ruined everything, because at least it would be on his own terms. It might be a long time before things slowed down enough again, before he got his master on his own again. He needed to shed this final sin, to truly move past the spectre of what he could become ( _what he was still becoming_ ). He needed to give up this last, lingering secret of his, the one that still kept him up at night, the one that had started him down this path, he needed to be _free of it_ -

And his master wouldn't let him. His master didn't want to know.

The words dried up in his throat, the secret safe between his lips.

Maybe it was for the best.

It was easier for the both of them to pretend that he was something other than what he was, this way.

“Anakin,” his master said, the bitter, uncertain tension breaking, but he was interrupted by the simultaneous chirping of the commlink that signified Ahsoka's arrival and the chilling, crushing, unmistakeable feel of a death in the Force.

The death of a Jedi. Of _many_ Jedi.

Their eyes met. No words were needed.

The two of them sprang from the cot as one, Anakin shaking off the vestiges of pain in his bones as adrenaline filled his veins instead, clearing his head, his heart. They raced out of his chamber in the Halls of Healing, down the Temple corridors, dark and shadowy in the evening light, hearts racing in tandem. Past the startled groups of Jedi and younglings, the Force loud with their collective confusion. Down the main corridor and out onto the steps, dimly lit in the glow of Coruscant's night, further out to where Ahsoka and Padmé were waiting in the speeder, illegally parked behind them, their silhouettes lit from behind. Ahsoka's eyes were wide with fear.

“ _What's happening_?” she demanded as they approached, springing out of the driver's side and rushing towards them, face pale. One lightsaber was already clenched tightly in her hand. “Something's -”

The Force _shook_.

Anakin screamed.

Something – something was trying to get inside – he wouldn't – couldn't - the inside of his mind was being _scraped_ -

 

_YOU HAVE LOST, BOY._

 

 

_AND YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING._

 

He pressed one hand to his head, gasping, the other clutching unconsciously at his master's cloak as their entire world fell apart around them. The Force shimmered in the aftermath of death, grew fraught with tension as the ripples and shocks were felt by the Jedi remaining within the Temple.

The future burned behind his eyelids for one impossible, incomprehensible second. His stomach dropped.

The Temple.

“Obi-Wan,” he rasped, knuckles white against his master's cloak, barely able to see for the pain in his head but this was important, this was essential, while they still had a _chance_ \- “The Temple – you have to – you have to _evacuate it_! _Now!_ ”

“Evacuate -”

“ _Get them out of there! Trust me!_ ”

“Always,” Obi-Wan said. He opened the commlink to its emergency broadcast channel. “Masters, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm initiating evacuation protocol as of _right now,_ I repeat -”

Anakin turned to run back into the Temple, was stopped only by Padmé's hand that shot out to grasp his wrist, tightly enough to bruise.

“Ani,” she said, head shaking.

The Temple stood quietly for less than a heart-pounding second, the air still, the night cool. The sound of blaster fire filled the air, distant, brief. And then it began to burn. Slowly, at first, a small pillar of smoke rising from above the hangar bay -

The hangar bay where the bulk of the clones were.

It was too late.

Anakin felt it first as a slight prickle against his skin, some inherent wrongness, a chill in the night air – and then the three of them were down, knees buckling, himself, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, their screams joining those of their brethren, of their sisters and brothers, near and far, as they were singularly extinguished and blaster fire echoed in his ears and his vision filled with smoke and flames and the stark white of clone trooper feet, and everything was burning, and the very fabric of the Force was being torn open with it and they were _too late too late_ -

and Padmé was dragging him up and backwards by the collar of his tunic, dragging them all back and into the speeder, her face pale and small and determined but he could barely see for the rip in the Force and the all-encompassing loss, he was going to be sick, they couldn't _leave_ -

but they'd been far enough away to escape unnoticed and the spectre of the Temple in flames was becoming tiny against the chaotic background of Coruscant's airways, against the panicked flow of traffic, against the scream in the Force that wasn't ending, wasn't _quieting_ , but he could see, in the distance, what looked like a sea of white descending on their home and they needed to go back, _they needed to go back_ -

“ _We can't go back, Ani_ ,” Padmé was saying forcefully, voice choked with tears and he realized he'd spoken out loud, found himself sprawled in the back of the speeder, Ahsoka sobbing into his shoulder, his other hand still clenched painfully around a handful of Obi-Wan's cloak. His master sat completely still, face bloodless. Padmé was driving the speeder, knuckles white around the controls, shoulders set. He couldn't see her face. “We'd only be killed, _I'm so sorry_ -”

“There are _children_ in there -” he found himself saying, voice cracking, Ahsoka tensing under his prosthetic arm, and the future swam tauntingly in front of him, his vision of the Temple in flames, of the younglings dead at his feet and he had been going to _stop this from happening_ , he had been going to _fix it_ -

“I know,” Padmé said harshly, making a sharp turn onto an exit that would take them south, away from the Temple and the Senate, “ _I know_ , Anakin, but there's nothing we can do to help them. You saw all of those troopers. We're no match for them, not that many at once - “ She was breathing hard, voice catching on the consonants, but she didn't slow down. “Ani, what – _what's happening_?” She risked a brief glance backwards, eyes shiny, face hard. Her lips were pressed together tightly to keep them from trembling, pieces of her elaborate hairstyle coming apart against the onslaught of wind.

He just looked at her. “I – I don't – I _can't_ -”

“Tell me later, then,” she said, not unsympathetically, before turning back to watch the route. “I'm taking us into the underworld.”

“ _Deep_ into the underworld,” Obi-Wan rasped. His hand moved shakily to cover Anakin's own where it was still white-knuckled around his cloak. “Whatever has just happened, I think it's clear that we are no longer safe here.”

Anakin let his head fall back against the seat, numb. Ahsoka's sobs had tapered off into the occasional shudder. He brought her in closer to his chest and thought carefully, painstakingly, of Lake Country on Naboo, sent images of softly rippling waves and quiet meadows through their bond. He felt her shoulders relax a fraction, breaths slowing. He couldn't heal the hurt, but he could numb it, for now.

“I know a place,” Padmé said grimly.

 

*

 

The 'place', as it turned out, was an abandoned weapons warehouse, boarded up and abandoned when the company had gone out of business. Anakin recognized the name as having belonged to a series of blasters that had been recalled when it had been revealed that a manufacturing defect could cause a worryingly large percentage of them to explode in the user's face. It was in as quiet a section as you could find in Coruscant's underworld, but still hardly secure. But it would do for now.

Padmé ground the speeder to a halt behind a large pile of boxes, hiding it as best she could. They got out quietly, grimly, and stood together, the air thick with silence. The future emptied out like a bottomless chasm before them, the Force a pulsing, aching wound.

“We'll have to leave, eventually,” Padme said, face drawn, breaking the tension. She began to unbraid her hair, fingers working through the curls with practiced ease. “If – if what I think has happened has happened, they'll be looking for you.” She paused, fingers stalling. “And for me too, I suppose.”

“And what did happen?” Ahsoka asked quietly. It was the first thing she'd said since the Temple had began to smoke. Obi-Wan removed his cloak, the only one between the four of them, and draped it over her shoulders.

“I'm not sure,” he said, eyes tight, voice expressionless. Anakin recognized the reaction for what it was – when in shock his master tended to fall back on his Jedi training, sometimes running for days on that same, frightening calm. It had frustrated him, when he was younger, sometimes even still, that his master would never talk about anything with him, would never let him know how badly he was bothered by anything. But it was the Jedi way.

And it was becoming clearer every minute that they were very likely the last of the Jedi.

Anakin exhaled shakily, bracing a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. She was as stiff as a board, eyes wide, lips bloodless.

“The holonet,” Padmé said suddenly, turning towards the speeder, braid forgotten. “There will be reports – if I can just find the right frequency -” She fiddled with the speeder's controls, hands shaking. Finally she came across the right button, the voice of a HoloNet News broadcaster cutting through the static. “It can only pick up an audio transmission, but -”

"It's better than nothing," Obi-Wan said, moving in closer.

They gathered around the speeder to listen in a listless, nervous huddle. Anakin's heart pounded in his chest, hand still clamped down on his padawan's shoulder as the broadcaster's mellow voice filled the air. The signal was bad, but the words could still be made out.

“Reports are coming in of attacks on the Senate building and the Jedi Temple here on Coruscant – at this point in time there is still little information available as to what exactly has -”

The broadcast was interrupted by a burst of heavy static.

“ - apparently changed, in a matter of seconds here we will be switching live to an official statement from the Supreme Chancellor, who will hopefully provide some much needed information -”

There was a collective shudder.

“He's the one behind this, isn't he,” Padmé said darkly. “He's the one that's somehow orchestrated this.”

Anakin nodded, mouth too dry to speak. A moment later, the Chancellor's voice cut through the silence, echoing dimly against the warehouse's walls.

“My fellow citizens,” he began, sounding shaken but determined. Anakin had a thought to wonder why no one had ever questioned the underlying strength that could always be found underneath the reedy, grandfatherly tone. “our city has been shaken to the core. In my years serving you I have striven, above all things, to remain transparent, and to ensure that our beloved Republic does not collapse once more under the weight of corruption, as it did under my predecessor.” Here he paused, sorrowfully. Anakin clenched his teeth. “I regret to inform you that I have failed in my duty. I have failed in my attempts to run this government without secrecy, without treachery, without outside influence.

“As you all know, for many years the Jedi have fought alongside the Republic in this war, their efforts and sacrifices well-acknowledged and appreciated by the Senate. I had thought them to be valuable allies, and honourable beings. But lately it has become clear that over the course of the war the Jedi have become corrupt and ineffective against the growing Separatist threat. One need only look at their recent failure to secure peace between the Quarren and the Mon Calamari to see the results of this ineffectiveness. I was willing to forgive this failure, as I have forgiven their failures in the past, in the name of the war effort. But it seems that the Senate, and myself, have been too lenient as of late. We have allowed too much.

“Less than an hour ago, I was ambushed in my office by Master Mace Windu and four other High Council Members in what we believe to have been an attempt at a coup. Threats to my safety are taken very seriously by my security personnel, and drastic measures were taken in the confusion of the confrontation. I'm sure I don't need to say how gravely I regret the loss of life.”

Ahsoka closed her eyes, lips twisting. The Force shuddered with grief.

“However, we must regard this new threat with the utmost seriousness if we are to maintain galactic stability. In light of these recent events and their troubling implications, I will be calling an emergency session of the Senate to discuss further steps.” His voice grew quieter, more intimate. The effect was skin-crawling. “In the meantime, my fellow citizens, I urge you to be vigilant. There are many of these Jedi traitors still at large, and they are dangerous. Of these Jedi, those confirmed to still be on Coruscant include Padawan Ahsoka Tano, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin felt his blood run cold, hand slipping from Ahsoka's shoulder to rest, trembling, at his side. _No_. “and Knight Anakin Skywalker, whom I believe to be the cause and _instigator_ of these events. If there is any blame to be laid here tonight, it is at his feet.”

 _No_.

“Skywalker is armed, dangerous, and a known murderer. Why,” the voice grew soft, disbelieving, deliberate. Mocking. Padmé looked to him, face drained of colour. “I must admit with some chagrin that some years ago he confessed to me the massacre of an entire village of Sand People on Tatooine. Men, women, and children.” Any blood still remaining in Anakin's face fled. The voice crackled on, heedless of the sudden tension in the air, of the nausea in the back of his throat. “Even then, you see, the Jedi had begun to overstep their bounds. Who can say what terrible deeds they might now be capable of?” There was a final, crackling pause.

“But I give you my word as Chancellor that the Republic will never fall into the hands of the Jedi. Not so long as you put all of your faith in my power.”

The transmission finished and Padmé reached with shaking fingers to cut off the broadcast, the static disappearing to leave a silence in its wake that was thick and tense and cold.

Ahsoka said, very quietly: “But. He was lying, Master. Right?”

Anakin's eyes skirted over his master's face, felt a wave of bitter, crushing disappointment crash through their bond, threatening to buckle his knees, bring him to tears, before he met Ahsoka's gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy and they held just enough hope in them to make his stomach churn with guilt. 

“No,” he answered quietly, reluctantly. The Force shuddered.  _No more pretending, Master_. “He wasn't lying.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. We made it folks. I've been waiting for this ;) 
> 
> This chapter was probably the longest one yet to make up for the fact that the next update is likely a little further in the distance as I slog through exam season, and I hope it doesn't suffer too much because of it. As always, any mistakes are my own and I fully apologise. Some parts feel a little rushed to me, but I'm always hesitant to just fill up space for the sake of it, so I'm leaving it the way it is for now. But never fear, yo, I have a Plan for everything and I'm very excited by all of this (and slightly horrified, I won't lie - I'm not the type to get too upset by my own writing because its my own writing and by virtue of that i think its garbage (and also these emotional moments are Strategically Planned) but I admit to getting a little shaky fingered near the end there, holy bananas. Palpatine is an ass (and also I've been planning The Thing for a very long time so I was very excited to finally write it).) Anyways, with any luck the next instalment will be up sooner than I'm projecting. It's been known to happen, and I feel a little bad about leaving it like this. ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Stay chill, friends.  
> \- W


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! This is so much later than I wanted to be and so much shorter than I wanted it to be???? But please accept this meagre offering with my sincerest apologies and a promise that more is on the way.  
> As always, enjoy!

Ahsoka stepped back from him, then, maybe unconsciously, and he could see her eyes brimming with tears. Worse, he could feel her mind, always open to his through their training bond, filling with doubt, with horror. He caught a broken, jagged flash of his own face, eyes yellow, lips pulled back into a snarl – a memory of hers from Mortis, brought to the forefront of her mind. His gut churned. There would be no going back now, no recovery from this, no return to the way things had been -

What was that saying? A favourite of Obi-Wan's. ' _You've made your bed, now lie in it_.'

“But -” her voice cracked. “ _Why_?”

“I -”

He paused, the words catching in his throat. His hands were shaking again, the world tipping uncertainly, like the ground had been pulled out from under him. His chest ached. Why had he done it? He couldn't – _there had been no thought_ , no hesitation, no examination of his own actions. He could only remember pain, the way it had seared behind his eyes, white and cold and aching, the way it had twisted to rage so quickly. He had needed – retribution. Vengeance. He had felt with unfailing certainty that he would never rest without it.

He knew better now.

“They killed your mother,” Obi-Wan answered for him, softly, when he was silent for too long. Softly, dangerously. His master's face was caught in the dim and murky shadows cast by the world above, unreadable. He could sense no anger, but his master had pulled back, retreated from their bond, which almost felt worse. Like he'd been cut loose, shut out, left to drift. A failure.

A monster.

But the words brought back everything he'd felt that long, long night, the cold tide of rage that had washed over him, something great and all-encompassing and cold and _powerful_ , and his fists tightened in response, blood pounding in his ears. Black speckled his vision. He slammed his shields up as best he could, tried to keep the darkness from leaking out, from _infecting them_ -

“Yes,” he managed, and his face twisted with a grief that was so old now it had settled in his bones and become a part of him. He averted his eyes, focused on the delicate detailing of Padmé's boots, dusty now with the debris of Coruscant's underworld. “And so I – slaughtered them. I did.” He looked up, heart pounding erratically. It was important that his master understand, that he see - “ _But I never told him_. He must have seen it through the Force, or through my mind. I swear, I only ever -”

He broke off, eyes flicking towards Padmé. She looked back at him tiredly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. Beautiful. Sad. Resigned. The dark receded.

Obi-Wan breathed in sharply and turned to her, his face tightening, subtle enough that anyone that didn't know him would have missed it. “You were there, Senator,” he said, coming to a realization. _And you did nothing_ , his eyes accused, though it was less straightforward than that.

_You were there, and I was not._

Padmé met his gaze evenly, straightening. “I was there,” she confirmed, eyes narrowing. She too seemed to catch the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight crinkle of his brow. She would be having none of it. “It wasn't my choice to make. Nor my place to interfere.” She swallowed briefly, eyes flitting to Anakin, before her face hardened into the mask he sometimes saw her wear in the Senate; brusque, businesslike, commanding. “I'm sure the three of you have a lot to discuss, but this is not the place or time. We have to get off of Coruscant, and quickly.” Anakin felt the vice around his chest loosen, palpable relief slumping his shoulders slightly as she took control of the situation. Ahsoka shifted beside him – he felt the same relief in her, sank into the quiet gratefulness that, at least for now, replaced the roiling turmoil of betrayal and shellshock that he had felt previously. Padmé lifted her chin, eyes hard. “Right now, that's our only priority. We can't afford any distractions.”

“You're quite right, Senator,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, face softening imperceptibly. He still wouldn't look at Anakin. “I have secure ways of contacting – of contacting those who might still be left. On Coruscant and off. But we'll need to get off planet first.”

And that was another thought – the Jedi were dispersed throughout the galaxy, fighting on different fronts, sent off on different missions. Not all of them would have had a clone contingent. Anakin felt a small flutter of hope in his chest, felt the tattered Force wrap almost comfortingly around them. He could feel it now, faintly, the ripples of life that still existed, beacons of light in a galaxy thrown into darkness. In the chaos of the attack on the Temple, the sudden deaths that had echoed, sharp and suffocating through the Force, they had lost sight of the bigger picture. The Jedi Order had been decimated – there was no denying that fact, no denying the indescribable shattering that had echoed throughout the galaxy, burnt its way through their minds.

But decimated was not the same thing as completely destroyed. The Jedi were many things, not all of them good, but the Order was, above all else, _resilient_.

He could feel it, now. He wondered if his master and Ahsoka could too, against the painful fraying of the Force around them, the mire of emotional turmoil, of betrayal. He'd always been slightly more sensitive to the Living Force, to the beckoning, glowing presence of other living beings, the siren's call of life. For a moment the sensation overwhelmed the sickening feeling of guilt in his stomach, the ache in his bones, the trembling of his hands. He could _feel_ it. He didn't know who and he didn't know where. But he _knew_.

 _They were not alone_.

“I have some ideas of how we might do that. Ani,” Padmé turned to him, fingers tight around the comm link clutched in her hand, “if I can get us onto a ship can you fly us out? I have a feeling security is going to be tight around here. I'm sure there's been a travel ban.”

“Air traffic control won't know what hit them,” Anakin promised, drawn from his thoughts, fists clenching at his sides. It would be the least he could do. He owed them everything, now, his friends. _His family_. He couldn't change the past – he couldn't even change the kriffing _present_ , for all he'd tried. And he knew, somehow, that redemption of the kind that he needed, that he wanted, was far, far out of reach. All he had to offer now was himself – and they would get him, all of him, for as long as they needed.

For as long as they - wanted.

They weren't alone, after all. And no matter how intact the Jedi Order might be, after everything, he had a sinking suspicion that there would be no place for him in it.

 _Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, married man, mass murderer, destroyer of the galaxy_. Somehow he didn't think the addition of 'despite his best efforts' would make it any better, any less damning.

He swallowed, fighting the rising tide of fear in his throat. He had no idea what the future held. No idea how any of this might be fixed, how he might even begin to mend some of what he'd broken. So he would make his family safe, he would make the Jedi _safe_ -

 _and then what_ , he wondered, watching as Padmé turned towards the speeder. He would do what they wanted. They could do what they wanted with him. Once they were _safe_.

If that meant leaving -

He tried to imagine life without the feel of Padmé's tiny hand in his, without Ahsoka's clear and ringing laugh, without his master's softly spoken admonishments, the comforting mental presence he'd grown so used to -

It would feel like losing another limb.

But it was the least that he deserved.

The Force prickled the hairs on the back of his neck, interrupting his train of thought. _Danger_. “We should -” he began, tensing.

“Let's go,” Padmé ordered, lips pressing together. She glanced upward briefly as the sound of distant sirens echoed from above them, before meeting Anakin's eyes. It was only a matter of time before they were discovered. “I think we've overstayed our welcome.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod what the actual hell I really am so sorry this is so delayed. Exams are done, and your girl did not flunk out of college but funnily enough it seems that working full time is actually more of a time sucker than actual school work. Go figure. Anyways, this chapter was actually intended to be the first scene of a much longer Chapter 12, but  
> I just have not had time, and I figured I should at least post something, even if that thing is pitifully tiny. Rest assured, this work is not abandoned - as an avid reader of fic I have been burned too many times to do that to anyone else, at least not willingly. That being said, I would say that updates to this baby might come a little slower now, however. The next bit of this yarn needs some slightly more involved plotting before I plug out any more of it - but hopefully the end result will be something we can all be happy about! 
> 
> I realize that I also have an inbox full of comments to get through, so if I haven't replied yet please also accept my apologies! I will do my best to get through them in a timely manner. I really appreciate hearing what you all think. Hopefully this chapter (snippet? offering? i am so sorry omfg) addresses some of the concerns people have regarding the direction all of this is taking - I apologize if some parts of what happened in the last chapter maybe weren't made clear enough. I've said this in a few replies, but I think it bears repeating here anyways - my narration style here is very much a limited kind of narration, though it does switch POV fairly often, so we're often then limited by what the characters themselves know and experience, even if that knowledge isn't right or accurate to what we/I know to be the truth. Our guys are shellshocked and exhausted and they've just had like the literal worst day ever - and they have like -2 of concrete information about what has just happened, aside from the brief glimpse they saw and what they heard from Palps. I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't give up hope just yet ;) there's more Jedi left in the galaxy (and maybe even on Coruscant) than maybe even poor Anakin can sense. The galaxy is a big place, after all, and we haven't had time to properly explore the ramifications of everything that's happened yet. With any luck that's what the next few chapters here will be for.  
> Once again, thank you so much for reading!!! I'm so appreciative of any and all feedback. Hope you are all having a wonderful start to the summer! Until next time (which is hopefully a soon time),  
> \- W


	13. Chapter 13

Obi Wan Kenobi had never had cause to consider Senator Bail Organa more than their brief encounters over the years had warranted – he had proven himself to be a smart and capable man, honourable in many respects, but not someone who had ever captured Obi-Wan's full attention.

And now they all owed him their lives.

It was hard to think about. All of it. He couldn't – he hadn't quite -

He breathed in shallowly and clasped his hands, on the verge of shaking in a manner most unlike the Jedi – ( _but what did that matter now_ ) – behind his back and considered his companions soberly, the soft glow of space throwing their faces into shadows. They were a pale and shaky sight, scattered around the controls of a refurbished personal yacht. An old one of Organa's, he thought. It was comfortable and in good working condition, but rough enough around the edges to keep them off the radar.

Or at least, as off the radar as was now possible, under the thumb of this new regime. For Obi-Wan had no doubts that it was exactly that. They had just been witness to a takeover, a coup. Something that had been planned for years, the effects of which were still rippling through the galaxy, affecting change, causing strife. When they emerged from hyperspace they would be in a different galaxy entirely. He could still barely wrap his pounding head around it.

Padmé sat in a worn scarlet seat meant for passengers, adjusting her comm unit, forehead pinched, while Ahsoka stood nearby with her arms crossed, staring blankly out the viewscreen into the cold vastness of the galaxy. She had slipped into a light and shocky meditation, her hold on the Force tenuous, bare arms trembling under the weight of Obi-Wan's cloak. Anakin stood at the controls, cutting a silhouette that was sharp and dark, shoulders hunched as he prepared to take them into hyperspace. He felt raw in the Force, unbalanced, unsure. Guilt draped off of him like a well-work cloak, suffocating the residual ache of remembered hate that he seemed unable or unwilling to shake off.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, queasily. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to _do_. It was too much at one time, the Force itself in uproar, too tangled and mangled and mired in death to be of any comfort just yet.

He had failed. It was easy to blame Anakin, it was - _always_ \- easy to blame Anakin for his mistakes, and there was no doubt that this time, at least, the blame was rightly deserved.

_A slaughter_.

It might have been an exaggeration, a falsehood, a lie. He would have so loved to believe that. But Anakin himself had gone as white as bone and confirmed it and how, then, could he find it within himself to deny it after that? It would be a disservice, to himself, to the Jedi. And to Anakin.

Anakin, who he had the sneaking suspicion had done his very best to confess, more than once over the past few days. His eyes fluttered closed in quiet horror, guilt sinking, stone-like, into the pit of his stomach. If he had only listened -

But that would have changed very little, except perhaps to drive them apart even before their little world had come crashing down around their heads.

He would have to get the entire story, eventually, figure out the how and why, find a reason, some _justification_. He would never be able to rest otherwise. And he would never be able to understand it on his own. Obi-Wan understood violence, to an extent, understood retribution, and cruelty, and revenge. Following the Jedi Code was not a cure-all for the intricacies of human emotion, after all, simply a better way of dealing with them. But Anakin's rage, all-powerful and blinding, felt sometimes unfathomable. As did his all-encompassing love. The two were intrinsically connected, he felt. One fed the other. The people he loved, he loved so much that he would kill for them. Die for them. And as for those that dared harm them -

_I thought you knew better_ , he thought desperately. _I thought I'd taught you_ _ **better**_.

And that was the crux of the matter, really. The reason the blood on his apprentice's hands felt like blood on his own. The reason he couldn't look him in the eyes, the boy he'd raised, the boy he'd come to - to care for like a brother, like a son. Against his better judgement, against everything he'd been taught, against what he'd counselled _himself_ -

He had never been quite able to practice what he preached. He had been hard on his apprentice, sometimes, had taken a hard line in an effort to appease the Council and his conscience. He'd denied Anakin's request to go home, after all, for all that decision had now cost them.

It was a fruitless exercise, to wonder how things might have changed if he had allowed Anakin to go to Tatooine, if he had paid closer attention to the visions, if Shmi Skywalker had been saved, but -

But the truth was, regardless of his actions, he had always preferred to see the best in his apprentice. He'd been so blind to Anakin's faults, his struggles. Because he – because he -

 - loved him.

_Attachment_ , came the bitter thought, swift, biting. _You old fool. They warned and warned against it and we never listened and now they're dead and they were_ _ **right**_ -

_Stop it_.

He was – he was being irrational. Emotional. He was not behaving in a manner befitting a Jedi.

But the Jedi were gone and he could no longer summon enough energy to care.

_What would you think of me now, Master Qui-Gon? I seem to have failed both you and my apprentice._

But there was no warm brush of the Force that told him anyone was listening.

 

 

*

 

It was hard to mark the passage of time, in hyperspace. The ship's lighting could be set to intervals meant to resemble day and night, but the result was never quite so effective as the feeling of actual sunlight. Hours blurred together in a haze of iridescent blue.

They weren't headed anywhere in particular. Yet. Obi-Wan had some thoughts about what their next steps might be, but he had a sinking feeling that the destination he had in mind wouldn't sit all that well with his companions. Not that he could blame them. He would have to approach the subject...delicately.

In the meantime, they were sticking to hyperspace, where they could remain untraceable, travelling along a fairly isolated trade corridor that wound its way through the borders of the Core and twisted through to the Outer Rim. They could travel comfortably on it for days without having to emerge from hyperspace.

This was good for their safety, but not so much for their sanity, Obi-Wan thought wryly, bare feet padding quietly down the ship's singular hallway. He had been meditating in lieu of sleep, trying to work his way through the ache in his heart, but it was difficult. The Force still felt twisted and wrong, the dark influence that had once been so subtle revealed in horrifying and unmistakeable fashion. His fingers reached out to brush the cool metal of the ship's wall, smooth and cold, grounding him.

He had ventured out of the quarters he had claimed in search of some water, and he moved to continue onwards towards the galley, but a flash of repetitive movement and the soft hum of voices distracted him. He took another step forward and stilled, trapped in the shadows that lurked outside the doorway to the quarters that Anakin and Padmé had obviously taken for themselves.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was no eavesdropper. But, as this encounter was circumstantial and not deliberate -

He gathered the tattered shreds of the Force around him and tried not to feel too badly. He focused, peering into the room without moving from the shadows. Anakin was seated on the small bunk in the corner of the room, Padmé settled primly on the floor between his legs, her own stretched out in front of her, the skirt of her gown laid out carefully to avoid wrinkles. He was braiding her hair. Painstakingly, Obi-Wan noted with a flash of bittersweet amusement, because he clearly wasn't very good at it. Deft hands moved slowly and carefully through the seemingly never-ending strands, dark and shiny against the grey dullness of the ship walls.

“I think I wouldn't last a day as one of your handmaidens,” his apprentice was saying quietly, ruefully. He had never quite lost that tone of reverence that the Anakin of old had spoken of Padmé with. Obi-Wan had once thought that reverence to be the natural reaction a young slave might have to an authority so absolute and confounding as a queen, especially when that queen was as beautiful and lovely as Padmé had turned out to be. But he wondered now if that reverence had been (and was) more a reaction to her kindness and her strength, rather than her status. Certainly Anakin had then failed spectacularly to show any reverence of the same to the authority figures he had met after leaving Tatooine.

“You might be right,” Padmé replied, smiling, eyes closed in contentment. “They're deadly with a comb _and_ a blaster. I trust you with a blaster. But, a comb -”

“Maybe not so much,” he said, frowning in concentration. “But what I lack in skill, I make up for in perseverance, my lady.”

“That's all I'd ever ask for.”

They drifted into a comfortable silence, both seeming to relax in the company of the other. Obi-Wan felt uncomfortably like an intruder, watching something private and oddly intimate, though not in any traditional sense. He had only just made up his mind to leave, to slip quietly from the shadows and on to the galley, when Padmé spoke up, hesitant.

“How did we get here, Ani?” she asked, leaning her head tiredly against his knee. He leaned slightly in turn to adjust the angle of his braiding. “How – how did all of this happen?”

Anakin waited a beat, wondering, perhaps, as Obi-Wan did, whether the question was rhetorical. But Obi-Wan watched as his shoulders slumped and he breathed out a considering sigh, face bleak and pale in the absence of anyone to look at it.

“I don't know, angel,” he said, tying off the braid he'd finally finished with a scrap of cloth. “A couple of days ago I might have said it all began on Mortis. Now I think it's clear that we're at the mercy of something that's been going on for far longer than that. But it doesn't seem...”

“Real,” she finished, eyes darkening. “I just don't understand how we all could have been so blind. I've had some suspicions about the Chancellor for a while now. _Many_ of us have, but to think that he was orchestrating something so huge this whole time – it's unthinkable. And we let it happen. The Senate just let all of it happen.” She huffed an angry breath, hands clenched into fists. “He'll use what's just happened as a grab for more power, and they'll welcome it with _applause_.”

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, frowning in silent agreement.

“Hey, hey,” Anakin put a comforting hand on her shoulder, forehead creased. “Not all of them. Right? Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, the other anti-militarists, they're all still there.”

“And I'm _not_.”

“But your influence remains.” Anakin looked at her intently, some kind of fierce belief shining for one instant out of eyes long dark and lifeless.

_Stars above_ , Obi-Wan thought, _he_ _loves_ _her_.

“Everyone you had to leave behind,” Anakin continued, “they believe in you, and in your ideals. They'll fight for that.”

“That's... true,” Padmé said, straightening. She frowned. “And it's more than just them. There are many senators who felt that the Chancellor had accrued to much power. That the war had been going on for too long. Now that there's _proof_ -” She twisted to look up at Anakin, eyes bright. “If we can get it to them. They might at least be capable of influencing the public, if they can stay out of Palpatine's grasp.” She laughed, breathlessly. “It was just in its early stages. We'd only just decided on a name. But – but maybe there's still hope for it. Maybe the Delegation of 2,000 still stands a chance.”

“Anything is worth a shot,” Anakin said, smiling back at her. “Whatever comes next for us, having people in Coruscant who are still on our side is gonna be vital. And Bail Organa certainly came through for us. That was brave, what he did.”

“He's a good man,” Padmé agreed, settling back against her husband's knee. “When we get to where we're going next, I'll contact him again. Wherever that might be.”

“That's a good question,” Anakin said. His face shuttered slightly, eyes focusing determinedly on one spot on the wall across from him. “You'd – you'd have to ask Obi-Wan. He probably knows better, what our next move should be.”

Padmé's face twisted in sorrow, a slender hand moving up to take one of Anakin's in her own. She held on tightly. “I'm sorry about the Jedi, Ani.”

There was a long pause. Obi-Wan felt it settle heavily in his heart. “Me too,” Anakin said finally. “But – but it's like you said. There's still a chance, out there. We just have to – to keep moving forward.”

Hope. That was what Obi-Wan kept feeling, the emotion tentative and strangled in the folds of the Force, but struggling to break free. He marvelled at _it. How can you still feel hope, after everything, young one_?

He'd expected something...different. In times of strife his padawan had a tendency towards the melodramatic, the absolute. They would win, or they would lose. They were right, or they were wrong. They had a chance, or they had none. People were good, or they were bad. This was...new.

For just a moment he untangled himself from the choking, heady threads of the Unifying Force and basked in the strings of bright and careful yellow, felt the briefest spark of warmth like sunshine fill his chest.

“Yes,” Padmé said after a pause, strangely careful. She paused again, seeming to think for a moment, before plunging forward. “Ani, have you spoken to either of them?” _About what happened_ was left unspoken. Obi-Wan found the threads of yellow snatched away, found himself plunged back into something dark and roiling. He swallowed, quietly.

“Yes,” Anakin answered, in what was technically not a lie. He'd informed them all when they'd entered hyperspace, had told Ahsoka to get some rest with a hesitant hand on her shoulder and an uncertain glance. But it wasn't what Padmé had asked and he knew it. She turned her head to glare at him meaningfully. Anakin blinked, slowly.

“No,” he amended. “How can I -”

He tapered off, folding into himself like a deck of sabbac cards, neck dangling. “There is nothing I could possibly do to make up for _that_ ,” he said, the sound muffled. “Nothing I could possibly say to make things better.”

Obi-Wan felt his neck tense, felt some inconsolable sorrow climb its way up his throat. _You might be right about that._

“Do you think maybe you owe it to them to at least try?” Padmé was still treading carefully, apparently all too aware of her husband's volatile temper. But there was no characteristic explosion, though the lack of explosive reaction was perhaps more characteristic as of late. Anakin lifted his head, expression bleak, eyes dark.

“I owe them far more than that,” he replied quietly. “But I'm not sure how I can give it to them. There's no _return_ from this, Padmé. I can't believe I ever convinced myself there was.”

“Weren't you the one saying just a moment ago that there was still a chance?”

“For the galaxy, yes. For me?” He left the question dangling, mouth twisted. Padmé stood abruptly, gown swishing, the Force reeling, turned on her heel and dragged her husband up with her. She grasped his forearms to steady him and led them a few steps backward, away from the edge of the cot.

“That's bantha shit and you know it,” she said fiercely. Anakin sputtered in surprise. “I know it's hard. I won't pretend that I understand what you did, or why you did it. I think you barely understand it yourself. And I won't pretend like I understand everything about the Jedi. But I understand people, Ani. And Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, they love you. If you'd just -”

“ _I don't deserve their love!_ ”

The Force gave a shudder, the lights above their head flickering in answer. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, briefly. Padmé's face twisted, eyes shining. “Ani -” she said. He glanced away from her, colour rising in his cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” he said, more quietly. “It's just – for a Jedi like Obi-Wan, following the Code is more important than anything else. And now the – most of the Jedi are presumed dead and his only apprentice is a walking, talking violation of everything he believes in. And Ahsoka -” He broke off, bringing Padmé in closer to his chest. She tucked herself under his chin. “I was supposed to set an example. She – she _looked up to me_. So I've failed them both. And I don't know how to – how to -” He let his head fall on top of Padmé's, face hidden in the crown of her head. “I saw the future, Padmé,” he admitted, voice strangled. “I ruined everything there too.”

Obi-Wan felt himself shudder, felt his chest fill with overwhelming sadness. He wasn't sure who's it was.

“You haven't ruined anything yet, Ani,” Padmé said quietly, ducking out from under his chin. She took his hands in her own. “And I don't think you will. But the three of you – you'll have to sort this out between yourselves. If you don't – I think the galaxy will suffer for it.” She stated things plainly, without accusation. But Anakin bowed his head in acknowledgement, shoulders slumping. Padmé sighed. “Come on,” she said finally, dragging him further into the centre of the cramped quarters. They spun half-heartedly, pressed together closely. “Do you remember that little coastal planet, with the masquerade ball?”

“Of course I do,” Anakin replied, forcing a lighter tone. “It's the only place we've ever danced together in public.”

“The Alderaanian Waltz,” she said, eyes twinkling.

“I remember,” he said. “I had to ask Obi-Wan to teach me how to dance.”

“ _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ knows how to dance?”

Anakin raised his eyebrows mockingly, though the effect was bittersweet. “It's a diplomatic necessity.”

“Well,” Padmé said, spinning them around again in a slow, lazy circle. “ I was very impressed. You only stepped on my foot once.”

This was after many hours of practice, during which Obi-Wan's own poor feet had been trampled on mercilessly. He smiled sadly at the memory, recalled the way the furniture of their sitting room had been pushed back haphazardly, the way the afternoon sun had shone warmly through the window as evening sunk in, the scratch and skip of the old holoplayer. An odd request, but a warm and lovely afternoon. A fond memory.

He was glad to see that some of what he had taught had gone to good use.

“I have faith, Ani,” he heard Padmé whisper as the two continued to spin, slowly, as Obi-Wan himself slipped deeper into the shadows, away from the door. He could hear the worry in her voice, feel it in the Force. He knew Anakin could too. But there was belief there too, blinding and complete and so very, very sure. “I know you do too.”

_What choice do we have, my lady?_ Obi-Wan asked silently, catching sight of the infinite through the viewscreen. _What choice do we have?_

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

Morning dawned only according to the ship's set light rotation, but they went along with it for the sake of routine. The sight out the viewscreen tended to change very little in hyperspace, but Obi-Wan stared out of it anyway, hoping to delay the inevitable. He had a feeling his recommendation wasn't about to go over very well. The Force felt unsteady, on edge.

He didn't think anyone had slept.

But they were all gathered now, huddled together but apart around the controls of Bail Organa's donated yacht (what was it called? The Grey Lady? The Blue Lady? He couldn't recall), waiting for him. Waiting for him to tell them what to do. He breathed out quietly and cleared his throat.

“I've thought about our next move. And, while I think eventually some form of resistance is of course our natural course of action, we must – wait. For the right moment. I've been unable to make contact with anyone as of yet,” and he hadn't given up hope, he hadn't, he hadn't, but the silence from the communicator was at times unbearable, “but there stands to reason that we are not the only Jedi left standing. We will regroup. And from there, we will -”

What? Storm the castle? Retake Coruscant? Save the galaxy?

_Laughable_.

But Padmé was right. Anakin was right. They had to try. They had a _chance_.

“We'll figure something out,” he said finally, tiredly. “But we need to establish some kind of base of operations. Somewhere no one will find us.”

“The entire Republic will be on the look out for us,” Ahsoka interrupted, forehead creasing. “Where is there left in the galaxy for us to go?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, meeting his apprentice's gaze for the first time since they'd heard Palpatine speak. His jaw tensed, and he saw Anakin's face bleach of colour as he caught on to Obi-Wan's line of thought.

_I'm sorry_.

“Back to where it all began,” Obi-Wan said. “The last place anyone would think to look.” He took a breath. Another immovable chunk of the future that had fallen at their feet slid disconcertingly into place. He suppressed a shudder. “Tatooine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! man, this took a lot longer than i intended. Once again, my sincere apologies for the wait. real life is a bitch like that. But in the meantime I've been hammering out something of a coherent plot (i hope) - with any luck it'll be relatively smooth sailing from here (now knock on wood with me).
> 
> as always, this is self-edited and it is very late at night, so my apologies for any typos I might've missed. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting - I read everything in my inbox, even though at the moment it's fairly backed up. Thank you so much for keeping up with this yarn - a couple of months ago I don't think I'd ever written more than a paper's worth of words about one thing, and now I've got a word document that's almost 80 pages long. It's a wonderful feeling.
> 
> hope y'all are having a wonderful summer! until next time,  
> \- W


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go, friends!

Time and space had not improved Tatooine. Ahsoka wrinkled her nose as she followed her master and Padmé off of the yacht, a blast of hot and dusty air hitting her in the face as she disembarked. She remembered the smell of the desert as being hot but clean – there had been a scouring edge to it, something about the desert heat that felt somehow more pure. But in the depths of Mos Espa, the scent of over-heated metal and over-heated _people_ was overwhelming. Obi-Wan came behind her, face still set in stone, a bag of rations and supplies (and their carefully concealed light sabres) slung over his shoulder, and she turned to watch as the Blue Lady's ramp screeched its way shut with a final clang. The sound might have echoed, but Mos Espa's spaceport was loud and raucous, and it was eaten away under the commotion. It was loud in the Force, too, the way all urban centres felt – but with far more of a desperate edge than that of Coruscant. It didn't hurt, but it wore at the ragged edges of her consciousness, ripped apart mercilessly by the deaths she'd felt in the Force. Ahsoka swallowed, and inched forward, closer to her master. It wasn't – right, _none_ of this was right, but she was nervous, and sad, and even though her master wasn't the man she'd thought he was ( _hoped he was_ ) he was still – still _Anakin_. And Anakin's presence would always bring her comfort.

Though at this moment, she wondered if perhaps it was her who should have been comforting him. He looked almost grey in the stark and unforgiving light of Tatooine's suns, face drawn tightly, jaw clenched. But he said nothing, and his thoughts were muffled.

He hadn't ever wanted to come back here. That much was clear. But Ahsoka thought he was trying his best not to say too much, to complain too much.

_Good_ , some part of her thought mercilessly. _After what he did -_

But whatever vindictive satisfaction that part of her tried to draw out withered as she caught another glimpse of his face. _After what he did, no wonder he can barely stand to be back here. He could barely stand it the last time_. And she remembered, that long, hot trek through the sand, just her and Anakin, and a baby Hutt between them. She had been so much younger then, so unsure. And her master. He had been so – so loud, when they had first met. Belligerent, conflicted. He hadn't wanted to be here, and he hadn't been afraid to let them all know it. The master she knew best had never been afraid to let anyone know what he thought, what he felt.

Maybe he thought he no longer had the right.

Maybe he didn't.

Ahsoka chanced a careful glance at Obi-Wan, who was rifling through the bag he'd brought off the yacht, searching for their papers. He, too, looked sallow and unwell, face pinched, lips pressed together. His long fingers were trembling slightly under the sleeves of his shirt. They had brought no extra clothes with them, but Jedi robes and garments were far too recognizable to be worn safely, even in the backwaters of Tatooine. He and Anakin had both stripped to their first layer, abandoning their over-tunics and belts. Padmé had lost several layers to the cause as well, her shift serving as a single-layered dress, her hair braided haphazardly down her back in a decidedly uncharacteristic manner. Ahsoka still had Master Kenobi's robe, which she could pull over her head to hide her own more recognizable visage.

In the Inner Core, they wouldn't have fooled anybody. But out here news travelled slower, and the Republic had far less influence. Ahsoka had the sense that as long as your credits were good, you wouldn't be asked too many questions. She hoped she was right. It certainly seemed like Master Kenobi's plan was sound – the Chancellor was smart, sure, but he also felt like he knew her master far too well. And anyone who felt they knew Anakin Skywalker best would know that Tatooine was the last place in the galaxy that he'd ever return to willingly. And the Republic's reach was scarce, out here. Words like patriotism, loyalty – tools of propaganda like that had no place in the Outer Rim.

They were safe. For now.

Master Kenobi finally emerged from the bag, a fistful of papers clutched in his hand. He handed a forged immigration permit, courtesy of Bail Organa, to each of them sternly.

“Say as little as possible,” he ordered, face tight. “We are _settlers_ , looking to make a living moisture farming. We've come from Lothal, to escape the trade sanctions.”

“Trade sanctions,” Ahsoka repeated, shoving her hands into the large sleeves of Master Kenobi's robe. “Got it.”

Obi-Wan bent slightly to adjust Ahsoka's hood worriedly, pulling it further down to conceal her face. It was hot, but she said nothing. “I've got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered quietly, but straightened and headed towards the immigration dome, bag slung over his shoulders. Padmé strode after him calmly, while her master sighed and paused to look back at her.

“Well,” he said, hesitantly, “at least we don't have a stinky, slimy Hutt-baby to look after this time.”

Ahsoka paused, but smiled back at him, for the first time in days. “Small blessings. Master.”

Ahsoka watched his shoulders relax marginally, a lopsided smile crossing his face. “You say that now. Wait until you're dumping sand out of your boot.”

“Always with the sand, Skyguy. It's almost like you've got a complex or something.”

They started forward, to catch up to Padmé and Obi-Wan, weaving their way around the hoards of travellers. The scorching wind tore at the hood of Ahsoka's cloak, and she grabbed it with her hand to keep it from blowing off her head.

“Hey,” her master said with mock-indignation as they caught up to Padmé. “My hatred of sand is completely rational. It's -”

“'Course, rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere',” Ahsoka and Padmé finished in tandem.

“We know,” Ahsoka said.

“And now we'll never hear the end of it,” Padmé added dryly as they reached the entrance to the immigration dome, the sandstone walls and their weathered but functional security cams rising above them menacingly. Master Kenobi was waiting. They fell silent, their heads ducking to avoid being picked up by the cams. Technology on Tatooine was, predictably, more than a few years behind that found on the Inner Core worlds, but it never hurt to be cautious.

“Come along, then,” Master Kenobi said quietly, face pinched with ill-disguised worry as he lead them inside, around a family of Rhodians huddled near the entrance. Ahsoka frowned, tugging nervously on the hood of her cloak as they followed him in. It was strange to see Master Kenobi so visibly concerned – out of all of them, he was certainly more prone to worry, but he was usually far better at hiding it. It made her montrails twitch.

The inside of the dome was crowded and stuffy, crammed with species from all across the galaxy. But the line Obi-Wan cajoled them all into moved along fairly quickly (a testament, Ahsoka hoped, to Tatooine's lax planetary security) and they were soon faced with a bored-looking human wielding a stamp and a holstered blaster.

“Names?” he asked. “Are you all together?”

Obi-Wan seemed to freeze. Ahsoka's frown deepened – none of them had thought this far ahead. _Force_ , what a stupid way to be discovered -

“All together,” Padmé shouldered Obi-Wan out of the way primly and smiled at the immigration officer. “I'm P- _Pooja_ Naberrie. And my husband, Ani. Naberrie.” On Naboo, it was customary for married couples to assume the last name of whoever held higher status, so it wasn't actually that far of a stretch. And Naberrie was a common surname throughout the galaxy, thanks to the frequency of alien colonization. Even still, the Force tensed in preparation for disaster.

But the officer simply nodded and began filling out a form. “The other two?”

“That's Uncle Ben,” Padmé continued cheerfully, elbowing Anakin in the ribs to keep him from laughing. “Ben Naberrie. And our...daughter, A – um. Ani. Junior.” Ahsoka closed her eyes as Anakin broke into a laugh poorly disguised as a coughing fit. There was no way this was going to work. Padmé's smile strained. “She's adopted."

“Your purpose here? I'll need the appropriate documentation.”

Ahsoka opened her eyes, heart pounding. _The man had bought it_.

Padmé handed over their forged documents calmly, an extra credit chip or two nonchalantly attached. “We're settlers, from Lothal. We hope to make a living here, moisture farming. We'd like to store our ship here, if that's possible.”

Four stamps, as the credit chips vanished up a sleeve with no acknowledgement. _Stars above_.

“Of course. I'll have it taken care of. Those trade sanctions are a real killer. Welcome to Tatooine,” the officer said, though the sentiment was lacklustre. “Best of luck to you.”

Padmé smiled tightly and took the stamped forms, thanking the officer as they were let through the barrier. Anakin wrapped an arm around her, still chortling, as they stepped out of the building and into the busy streets of Mos Espa, dust swirling around them.

“That was some quick thinking, _Mrs. Naberrie_ ,” he said quietly, a hint of pride colouring his voice.

“Politicians have to be quick on their feet, _Mr. Naberrie_ ,” Padmé replied smugly. “And now we've made it.”

They sobered slightly as they took in the sights, huddled together under the late afternoon sun. Mos Espa was as grim as ever. Dusty, grimy, crowded. Too crowded to be safe. The rows and rows of domed, sandstone buildings stretched out, low to the ground like a snake. A slave child darted in front of them and she watched her master's face grow bleak.

“We'll need supplies,” Master Kenobi said, breaking the sudden, chilly silence. “Clothes, food. A speeder, perhaps.”

“And a place to live,” her master added, cautiously. “Right, Master?”

Obi-Wan paused to look at him, face inscrutable. “Just Ben now, I should think. And, yes. A place to live.”

They headed towards the marketplace, their heads down, in silence. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, and Ahsoka watched with silent alarm as their supply of credits gradually dwindled, in exchange for dried ration packets, a clunky old speeder, so dusty you could hardly tell what colour it was (red, she decided finally), a toolkit, various pieces of clothing (also dusty) and four ponchos. Ahsoka's still had a hood, but the material was so much lighter than the heavy fabric of Master Kenobi's cloak that it still felt infinitely better.

And they were now the proud owners of a small property out in the Dune Sea. The Jundland Wastes, Anakin had called it. Dangerous. Barren. But isolated. Ahsoka suspected that was what had appealed the most. Prolonged contact with anyone was risky. Living in a more urban dwelling was simply unthinkable.

“It's close enough to Anchorhead,” Anakin was saying, squinting at a wrinkled flimsi map they had been given with the property deed. He was leaning up against the wall of an alley they'd ducked into, wanting to avoid being seen looking at a map. Anything that made you out to be a potential mark was bad news in Mos Espa. “And there's a small settlement nearby called the Pika Oasis.”

“That might be useful,” Padmé said, one hand laying protectively on top of their new speeder. “Our rations won't last forever.”

“There's always bantha,” her master pointed out, but he seemed less than enthusiastic about the idea. Ahsoka had only ever seen a bantha in holo form, but she couldn't help but agree.

“We'll have to see,” Obi-Wan said, shoulders still tense. “We need to limit our contact with other people. We've made it this far without being recognized, but it's only a matter of time. Anyone coming from the Inner Core who sees us is a risk. And I've no doubt there will be bounty hunters sent after us.”

Her master frowned. “I- I'm not so sure about that.”

The three of them paused to look at him, and his frown deepened.

“It's just a feeling,” he said hurriedly. “But. I think he might leave us alone. For a little while, at least.”

“What makes you say that?” Master Kenobi's tone was still cool and wholly non-judgemental, but the lack of warmth still made Ahsoka wince internally. Her master's eyes flicked downward in response.

“Well, he has what he wants most of all, right? We haven't caught up with the news from Coruscant, but presumably he's made his play for power by now.” He took a breath. “We were always part of the plan, but we were never essential to it. And he's used to playing the long game. I think – I think he'll wait for us to come to him. He's – he's _sure_ we'll come to him.” He looked up uncertainly at his old master.

"Perhaps you're right,” Master Kenobi said, a hint more gently. “But in any case it doesn't hurt to be cautious.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin replied, swallowing.

“It's Ben, now, Anakin,” he was reminded, and Ahsoka watched, heart heavy, as Master Kenobi – as _Ben_ , turned to exit the alleyway. “It's quite a few kilometres to our new home. I suggest we get a move on.” He clambered tiredly aboard the speeder, taking the wheel. Padmé took the map from Anakin and climbed in behind him, face implacable. Her master stepped forward, placing a worn hand atop her shoulder. He hadn't even protested not being the one to drive.

“Ready to go, Junior?” he asked, forcing a smile.

“Sure thing, Dad,” she said, as they both shuddered in mock horror.

“Yep. That's gonna be a hard sell,” he muttered, climbing into the back of the speeder with a pained grunt.

Ahsoka heaved a sigh and joined him. “You're telling me, Skyguy.”

 

 

*

 

To say that their new home needed some...renovating, would have been a gross understatement. Ahsoka felt her heart sink as she took in the dilapidated synthstone, the small building surrounded by rubble and clearly abandoned long ago. It was long past sunset now; she almost shuddered to think of what it might look like in daylight.

Their speeder had broken down two kilometres from the homestead, and the three Jedi had been forced to tow it the rest of the way with a combination of strength and the Force. Anakin had promised to take a look at it in the morning, but Ahsoka wondered if there was any point, from the sounds it had been making. It would fit right in with their wreck of a home.

“'Needed a bit of work done',” Padmé said, one eyebrow raised in incredulity. “That's what the property manager said.”

“Think he might have been exaggerating a bit,” Anakin remarked, leaning heavily on Padmé's shoulder. It was hard to tell, in the darkness of Tatooine's night, but his face was tight with discomfort. He'd stumbled more than once on their trek through the Wastes. Padmé sighed, and wrapped an arm around him tightly, frowning up at the house.

“We'll make do,” Obi-Wan said tiredly. He gripped their bag of supplies and walked towards the dwelling's entrance, poncho drifting in the night breeze, feet crunching on the rocks. Ahsoka followed gingerly, sneezing at the cloud of dust that rose from the ground as she entered. It was almost worse on the inside, she decided, though in the dark it was hard to tell. But her night vision was better than most humans, and the inside of the – the _hut_ (if she tried to think of it as a house she would only be disappointed) was cramped and dirty. _Like the rest of Tatooine_ , she thought morosely. The walls were bare synthstone, and the floor was little more than dirt, and littered with leftover clutter. The Force sang with the remnants of whoever had lived here before.

She turned, startled, as Anakin and Padmé entered behind her, her master's head colliding unfortunately with the top of the archway.

“What is this, a house for Ewoks?” he hissed, hand flying to his head. “ _Kriff_.”

Obi-Wan dropped their supply bag to the floor with a dusty thump, and turned to look at them. “ _We'll make do_ ,” he said again, firmly, though Ahsoka caught a glimpse of something like desperation in his eyes, through the Force.

“Of course we will, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, placing her own bag on the ground. She placed her other hand on Anakin's arm. “We're sorry. This is just – difficult. For everyone.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Forgive me. But there's nothing we can do about any of this in the dark. I think some sleep is in order. For everyone.”

“No argument from me,” Ahsoka said, suppressing a yawn. Caught up in the horror of the days past and the tightness of their escape, she'd had little sleep on their journey to Tatooine. She didn't think any of them had. “But, where is there to sleep here?” She hadn't spotted a bed on her initial perusal of the interior.

Obi-Wan looked behind him, gesturing to an alcove in the wall. “I believe this is the only sleeping space. It might be a bit...cramped.”

Ahsoka moved closer to look, sighing at the sight of the smooth synsthstone. Not a blanket or pallet in sight. They might as well be sleeping in a corner of the Resolute.

“Well. It's better than nothing,” Padmé said wearily, removing her shoes and poncho. “We've been involved in this war for so long, I'm sure we've all slept on worse.”

That was hard to argue with, and with surprisingly little fuss Ahsoka soon found herself pressed between the wall and her master, her rolled up poncho under her head and a corner of Obi-Wan's coat serving as a blanket, though it did little to ward off the chill of the desert night. Padmé had her master's other side, tucked under his arm, and Obi-Wan lay still and silent on her other side, arms folded uncomfortably, facing the alcove's other wall.

Ahsoka slept for a while, she thought, lulled to sleep by the unsettling desert noises and Obi-Wan's snoring. She hadn't known that he snored, though she thought she remembered Anakin telling her once that he only did it when he was truly exhausted. It was comforting, in a way. Rhythmic. But sleep didn't last long – she wasn't sure it ever would again, and she awoke to darkness with a start, smoke in the back of her throat, screaming in her ears, conflict in her heart.

Her master was gone.

Except he wasn't. She could feel him in the Force, nearby. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and threw off her portion of Obi-Wan's cloak, moving carefully to avoid waking the others. She creeped quietly out of the hut, arms crossed to ward off the chill. In the distance, an animal wailed. The back of her neck prickled. The desert smelled – the desert _felt_ – different at night.

Her master sat on a large rock, facing the expanse of the Jundland Wastes that lay before them, the valley yawning dark and deep and fathomless. She joined him, crossing her legs and peering out into the deep. There wasn't anything to see.

But he was looking up at the stars anyway.

“Can you see Coruscant from here?” she asked, tilting her head up at the sky. The galaxy spun hauntingly out before her eyes, sparkling. She felt tiny, all of a sudden. Tiny and so far away from all that had happened.

He pointed to their upper left, squinting. “That tiny star, over there. In the middle of that cluster. See it?”

“I see it,” she said. “We're so far away.”

“They say that when you look at the stars in the sky, they're so far away that the light reaching your eyes is sometimes centuries old. We're looking into the past, Snips.”

“But we can't change it,” she said, unwanted tears prickling her eyes. “All we can do is look.”

He bumped her shoulder comfortingly. “The past is the past, Snips. We can learn from it, but we can't change it.”

It was her master's voice, but the words sounded like something Master Kenobi would say. She wondered if he was simply repeating something he'd once been told.

“Why are you out here, Master?” she asked.

There was a long silence. “Couldn't sleep,” he said finally. “Too sore.”

It wasn't a lie, but she could feel it wasn't the entire truth, either. _Nightmares_ , she thought. Maybe they'd never escape them, now.

“What about you, Snips?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she retorted. Wind whistled through the canyon below them. She shivered.

“You should go back to bed, Ahsoka,” he said quietly. “It's been a long day.”

“Only if you do too.” But she knew he wouldn't.

“ _Snips_ -” he warned, but didn't finish the threat. “Fine. If Obi-Wan asks, we both slept through the whole night.”

Ahsoka wasn't sure that Obi-Wan would bother to ask, honestly, but thought it better not to mention that.

“Fine,” she said. They sat in silence for a long while, watching the stars move slowly across the sky. Ahsoka felt her eyelids grow heavy, began to see shapes and figures in the bright lights above. But she didn't want to fall asleep out here, in the cold dark, with the wind howling below them and beasts roaming above. Her stomach felt twisted in knots, heart pulled in too many directions.

“Master,” she asked finally. “What you said about the past. Do you – do you wish you could change what you did? Do you regret it?”

She didn't have to clarify what she meant. But she wasn't sure what he would say, if he would even answer. She wasn't sure if it was right to ask. But her world had fallen apart at her feet, and the one person she thought she'd known had fallen with it (had fallen long ago) and she had to _know_ -

“I regret,” her master said after a long pause, almost apologetically, “that I don't regret it. But I know in my heart that I would do the same again.”

Ahsoka's hands clenched against the sandy rock. “But -”

“Not because I think it was the right choice, Ahsoka.” His voice shook. The Force rang with horrific truth. “I know it wasn't. But – I was _so_ – so angry. I couldn't see beyond that rage. Some days I still can't. I'm not a good Jedi. Sometimes I'm not even sure I'm a very good person. But I couldn't see that then. And even now, I -” He trailed off, swallowing. He looked at her carefully. “But I'm sorry I let you down, Ahsoka. I won't ask your forgiveness for that. But you're strong, and brave, and wise, and a far better Jedi than I ever could have hoped you'd be. I've made – a lot of mistakes, over the years, but you were never, ever one of them.”

Ahsoka felt her eyes prickle with tears again, against her will, but she didn't let them fall. There would be time, someday.

“You're the best master I could have asked for,” she said quietly, voice breaking. She reached a hand up to finger her padawan beads, felt the familiar coolness against her skin. “You didn't let me down. _You've never let me down_. And I don't think that you're a bad person. I think you're a good person that did a horrible thing. You won't ever have to ask for my forgiveness because you don't _need it_.” She paused. “But you're not the person I thought you were. And the galaxy isn't what I thought it was. And the Jedi – the Jedi couldn't stop any of this. And now they're gone. So I -” She grasped the beads tightly in her hand, felt a hot tear spill traitorously down her cheek.

“ _Padawan_ ,” her master said, voice choked.

“I have to figure things out on my own.” She closed her eyes and pulled, heard the snap of thread as loud as the sound of her heart in her ears and for a moment the noise seemed to echo into the valley below. The silence that followed felt hollow and fragile. She pressed the beads into her – into Anakin's shaking hands and closed his fingers around them.

“Snips,” he said quietly, face pale. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she whispered, more certain than ever, even though it broke her heart to do it, even though she'd barely entertained the thought a few moments ago. “The Jedi are gone. When we overthrow the stinking Chancellor and save the galaxy – _again_ – they'll still be gone. And the worst part is - I'm not sure – I'm not sure the Jedi were _right_.” She looked up at him. “I will always do my best not to give in to fear and to hatred. But I'm tired of trying to feel only peace. The Jedi Order couldn't change, and I think – I think that was part of why it was so easy to destroy. We have to be different. We have to be _better_. You're the one that taught me that was possible.”

“When did you get to be so wise?” Anakin asked her, smiling sadly.

“While you weren't looking,” she replied, before barreling her head into his shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck. He tucked her head under his chin and hugged her tightly.

“Guess this means I can't force you to do katas anymore,” he said as they pulled apart. “A clever move, on your part.”

“No throwing rocks at me anymore, either,” she added, smiling. “Though, I think I'll miss your lightsaber instruction.”

“I definitely _won't_ miss the couple of times you nearly sliced me in half with your sloppy Jar-Kai technique,” Anakin retorted, head tilting back to look up at the stars again. “But I could be convinced to let you help me fix up the speeder and that old moisture vaporator tomorrow morning. If you're interested.”

“How generous,” she replied dryly. But she could hear the cautious hope in his voice. “I'd like that.” She paused.

 

“Anakin.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always forget how much I love writing Ahsoka, and then I write ahsoka and I'm like, 'why is there not more ahsoka', you know? she's such a great character. I rewatched revenge of the sith today, which was a) a Mistake, and b) a nice refresher on a lot of sw's overarching themes, so in between the tears streaming down my face I feel like i got a lot of nice inspiration. I really hope the pacing is working here - it might seem like things are slowing down a little bit, but i want to do a little more character work before we dive back into saving the galaxy (also tatooine is really cool?? idk, I'm just fascinated by it, i feel like it has a lot of interesting thing to offer, plot-wise). Anakin and Ahsoka are back on good terms, but obi-wan definitely at least needs a hug or a drink or something before we move on lol. I also hope his moroseness doesn't seem too out of character here - i'm just always struck by how sad he seems in the OT and in the various tie in pieces after RotS, and I have a feeling that intense withdrawal is probably his default mode when it comes to emotional hardship.  
> Anyways, thank you as always for reading and commenting! I love hearing what you think. Until next time!  
> \- W


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the adventures of #ponchosquad continue. buckle up, friends, 'cause obi-wan kenobi is having probably the worst couple weeks of his life in this universe and i'm still not done fixing it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_In. Out. In. Out. In_ -

_Snort_.

Meditation, Obi-Wan reflected with an unfortunately familiar feeling of muted dissatisfaction, was difficult enough in this desolate wasteland without the constant interruption brought about by the latest member of their dysfunctional little settlement.

“Must you do that now?” he asked flatly, opening his eyes reluctantly to the unfortunate brightness of Tatooine's late afternoon. Padmé, who was crouched down a few feet away in the rocky outcrop they called a backyard, turned away from the object of her attention to raise an eyebrow at him.

“If you want a liquid to go along with our dinner,” which was already something of an exaggeration, as their dinner would likely consist of a few strips of dried bantha meat and a piddling amount of stir fried desert tundra, “then yes,” she replied, before turning back to said bantha and patting it sympathetically. “It's alright, Madame, he doesn't mean anything by it.”

He had forbid them from giving it a name, and so of course they had named it Madame just to spite him. Giving up the afternoon meditation as a lost cause, he sighed and rose from the ground, shaking sand from his robe irritably. Padmé continued to milk Mad – _the bantha_ calmly, cooing quietly to settle the animal, who was prone to bouts of anxiety that had, one some notable occasions, left dents in the outer wall of their hut. Obi-Wan didn't think it was worth the credits, frankly, but the other three had insisted, maintained that they needed some source of liquid besides water, that it would add to their credibility as settlers. Padmé had stepped up to the task of caring for the beast admirably. _Queen, senator, fugitive, farm-hand_ , Obi-Wan thought amusedly. Padmé Amidala was no more without fault than any of them (she had a temper that could put Anakin's to shame, for one thing), but she was infinitely adaptable. Some days it felt as though she were the only one among them with any sense at all.

A distant clang, followed by a vehement stream of Huttese curses, wafted through the hot air. The Force vibrated with faint distress, but no real danger. Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Definitely_ the only one among them with any sense.

“Are they working on the vaporator still?” Padmé asked, referring to Anakin and Ahsoka. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Madame snorted again, foot stamping against the ground irritably. “I thought they got it working yesterday.”

“So did they,” Obi-Wan replied. “I believe it broke down again this morning.”

Padmé sighed. “Well, I hope it stays working this time. I'm not sure how much longer we can last without a water supply of our own. Bantha milk is fine for drinking, but I think we should draw the line at bathing in it.”

“I'm sure Madame agrees with you.” Madame. _Blast_. Padmé grinned triumphantly at his slip, the Qui-Gon in his head whispering something smug about 'pathetic life forms'. He frowned. “But I'm sure they'll get it working. It's my understanding that moisture vaporators are nowhere near as complicated as starship engines.” At least to hear Anakin tell it. Though given the amount of times his erstwhile companions had managed to completely mangle the insides of his star fighter before fixing it that wasn't necessarily a comfort. They had been working on the vaporator for days, practically since their arrival, throwing themselves into the work. It was their typical way of dealing with hardship.

“If it keeps them out of trouble,” Padmé said, turning back to the bantha. “But they've been working awfully hard. Will you go bring them in? It's almost time for dinner.”

“Of course,” he replied, though the backs of his teeth found themselves ground together in mild displeasure. Interacting with his former apprentice still set his hair on edge, made something caught between guilt and anger churn in his stomach. Not that he was actively avoiding him, it was just that – well.

He was tired.

“You know you're going to have to talk to him sometime,” Padmé added, not bothering to look away from Madame. Blast. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“I don't know what you might be talking about,” he deflected, shoving his hands inside the sleeves of his robe forcefully.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Take it from a politician. If you leave this it's only going to boil over into something neither of you can fix. You've already let it simmer too long. And,” she paused, expression softening. “he's not the only one who could use a friend.”

Well. What could he say to that? His lips flattened together and he turned on his heel, heading reluctantly down to where their ancient vaporator was located. It was on the edge of the property, near the bottom of the canyon, and the trail to reach it was decidedly precarious. He took his time, stepping carefully.

They had been on Tatooine barely more than a week, but it felt like an age. And they had settled into a routine, of sorts – there was plenty of work to be done getting their hut into a liveable condition, after all. It was exhausting, but the four of them were used to having work to do, a schedule to follow. In fact, he sometimes worried what they would do once the work was completed. Idleness didn't suit them. _We were not built to wait and hide_ , he thought often. _We will all go mad before we see this through_.

But they had little choice. There had been no contact made with the rest of the world since their hasty escape, no word from those that might still be alive, no news from the rest of the galaxy, now shrouded in unknowable darkness. The lack of knowledge brought with it a creeping tension, a feeling of growing distress that filled the Force and pulled it taught, like a string about to snap.

He was tempted, some days, not to leave their sleeping alcove at all, to sit still in the gloom with his eyes closed and his fists clenched in their newly purchased blankets, comm unit open to receive beside him. Tempted to simply wait, mind carefully blank. He didn't want to have to think about the fate of the galaxy, of the weight that now rested on their shoulders, not without a plan, not without more _knowledge_. He didn't want to think about Tatooine, about its pathetic life forms and endless plateau and nosy settlers and the fact that they might be stuck here for decades, that there might be no contact made, that he had doomed them to a short and difficult existence, hidden for the rest of their miserable lives under the heat of Tatooine's suns. He didn't want to think of how they had ended up here, didn't want to admit that he had _led them here_ and was now at a loss for what to do. And he didn't want to think about -

\- about Anakin, who worked himself into exhaustion in what Obi-Wan knew was likely some misguided attempt to atone for his perceived sins and who hoped so loudly it flared yellow and heartbreaking in the Force and who sometimes tried to catch Obi-Wan's eye -

And so their lives went on, now unremarkable but fraught with tension.

But he didn't need a friend.

“ - hand me that sonic wrench, will you Snips?”

“That depends, are you gonna hurl it at the vaporator wall again?”

“That was _one time_ -”

“Because it rebounded right into your face and it was hilarious. You know, on second thought, you _can_ have the wrench.”

“I'm not gonna hurl it at the wall, I think I found the problem from before. We have to tighten this seal -”

The conversation paused as Obi-Wan rounded the corner and approached, the rusted countenance of their vaporator looming over the figures of his two companions. They were covered in sand and gleaming with sweat. The section of the canyon was blocked from the breeze they sometimes caught up above, and as a result felt rather akin to entering an oven.

(Obi-Wan took a moment to wish he didn't know exactly what that felt like. The amount of times over the course of his career that they had almost been _eaten_ \- )

“Repairs going well?” he asked mildly, taking in the view of the rusted machine. It certainly didn't look like it was operational, but he admittedly knew next to nothing about moisture vaporators.

Anakin gave something one last twist with the wrench and stepped back, glancing upwards. “That should do it,” he said, eyes flicking nervously to his former master. “But the moisture collection takes a while. We won't know if it works until morning.”

_Well done_ , Obi-Wan didn't say. “I've been told to bring you back for dinner,” he said instead, turning back to the jagged path.

“Dinner?” Ahsoka asked, packing up the toolkit and throwing it over her shoulder. “Does this mean we're having something other than bantha jerky tonight?”

“No,” he replied, resisting the urge to sigh as her shoulders slumped. “I'm sorry if I implied otherwise.”

“I hate this planet,” she muttered, trudging behind him. Anakin followed stiffly, wrench still in hand. The Force felt thick with their mutual avoidance.

“You're telling me,” he agreed. “Come on, Snips. Last one up has to brush the bantha!” He darted ahead.

“Hey, no fair!” she yelled, charging forward. “All you're carrying is the wrench!”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at the sudden gust of sand left in their wake and scrubbed a hand down his beard wearily. He couldn't find it within himself to be too annoyed – their exuberance was an act, completely. An attempt to keep their exile – because that was what it was, without a doubt – lighthearted. He was glad they were trying, glad they were getting along. The two of them had reconciled, somehow, while he wasn't looking. Ahsoka's padawan beads had been conspicuously missing since their first night here. He had a suspicion they were now folded very carefully in the same small pouch that Padmé kept the japoor snippet Obi-Wan wasn't supposed to know Anakin had given her, tucked away underneath the pillow that she and his apprentice now shared.

Some part of him disapproved – the Jedi Order was in pieces. Did they not have a duty to preserve what few aspects of it remained? Preserve the traditions that had held it together for centuries, the rites that they prepared their whole lives for?

But Ahsoka had proven herself more than capable of eventual knighthood, had grown over the years into a remarkable person. She was smart and brave and capable and anchored in the Light. Maybe now that was all that mattered. Maybe that was all that had ever really mattered.

His mood soured. Or maybe none of it mattered anymore.

He made his way silently up the winding path, slowly sinking suns beating down on him. The wind was picking up, but it still felt hotter than the nine Corellian hells. Still, he was loath to remove his robe. It felt – familiar. And it kept his skin from burning. It was a problem Anakin and Ahsoka didn't have. Togruta were well suited to the desert, and Anakin had been desert-born.

If Padmé didn't soon beat some sense into him, he might well be laid to rest in the desert too, Obi-Wan thought acerbically as he approached their hut. His former apprentice was picking himself gingerly off the ground while Ahsoka looked on exasperatedly, arms crossed under her poncho.

“I still won,” he was insisting, chest heaving. He straightened with a wince. “That was definitely a win.”

“In your dreams, Skyguy,” Ahsoka replied, heading into the hut. She paused, one foot in the door, as Padmé's voice echoed from inside.

“ _Ahsoka Tano, that had better not be a sand-covered boot I see about to step inside our home!_ ”

“Right, right,” she muttered, hastily stripping off the grimy footwear and brushing away the sand. “Sorry!” She slipped inside the hut, boots abandoned by the door. Obi-Wan and Anakin followed, ridding themselves of excess sand similarly. Anakin paused by the doorway, hesitant. Obi-Wan's stomach twisted.

“There's – I think there's going to be a storm tonight,” he said. “Not a big one, but we should probably try to board up the windows and door as best we can, or this whole place will be filled with sand by morning.” His eyes darkened with distaste. “If that happens we won't ever be able to get all of it out.”

“Alright. You'd know better than me,” Obi-Wan replied. He'd sensed nothing himself, but Anakin was far stronger in the Force than he, and he knew the desert well, for all he professed to hate it. And it was common knowledge that his former apprentice never joked around about sand.

The four of them ate dinner quietly, crowded around the small table in the centre of the room. True to expectation, it consisted mostly of dried bantha. Obi-Wan chewed unenthusiastically. Perhaps it was time for them to venture back to the Pika Oasis. Dannar's Claim, where they had purchased much of their supplies previously, was small and rugged, but decently stocked. According to Padmé, the settlers that lived near them and frequented it were curious but easily deflected. One of them had tried to get her to buy into what sounded like a protection racket, meant to defend against Tuskens.

If it would get them some form of nutrient that didn't have the texture of the bark of a Felucian elm, he thought the risk was likely worth it.

After dinner, they set to work sealing their hut against the storm. They had nothing solid to board the windows, so pinned up tightly fitted sheets instead, hoping to seal against the sand. They had no barn or stable for poor Madame – for _the_ _bantha_ , but tied her up as close to the hut as they could manage, where there would at least be some shelter (though she objected to this manoeuvre strenuously). By the time they were done, the suns had set behind the cliffs and the wind had begun to howl ferociously. They retreated inside.

“Is Madame going to be alright?” Ahsoka asked tentatively as they got ready for bed. “What if she's afraid? She's jumpy even when there's nothing to worry about.”

“She'll be okay, Snips,” Anakin said reassuringly. “It's not a big storm. Banthas are used to them, anyway. You'll get used to them too.”

But the Force hummed a silent warning regardless, and they fell asleep uneasily to the roar of the wind and the unsettling hiss of sand brushing up against the synthstone. In fact they slept very little, between the occasional bleat of distress from the other side of the wall and the howl of the wind as it buffeted their home. The sheets held up admirably, but as early morning approached the storm gradually receded and Obi-Wan found himself finally able to relax, comforted by the knowledge that they wouldn't wake up buried in sand.

It was a mistake. No sooner had he finally settled into something resembling rest, breaths evening out to match those of his sleeping companions, the Force twisted in warning, flaring brightly and startling Tatooine's only Jedi into frantic wakefulness. As they scrambled upright a haunting wail rose up from the canyon below.

“That's not the wind,” Ahsoka whispered, shivering in the cold morning air. Obi-Wan's fists clenched, heart pounding. The wail drew nearer. Wedged in between Padmé and Ahsoka, Anakin sat unnaturally still, face white as bone in the eerie gloom. The air grew colder still, some heavy darkness settling over them like a blanket.

_No_ , Obi-Wan thought, _no, no_. But it was too late, and even as he thought to placate, to calm, the Force drenched itself in ice and his apprentice vaulted from their sleeping alcove, barefoot, lightsaber clenched tightly in his hand and the carefully pinned sheets were ripped from the wall, the door flung open, their protests lost to the wind. He bolted after him, Ahsoka and Padmé on his heels, feet catching in the sheets abandoned on the floor.

_Not the wind, not the wind, why did I bring us here_ -

He almost didn't want to look. _Are we truly doomed to repeat the past_ , he wanted to ask. _Have you and I learned nothing_?

_Is this protection or vengeance_?

He couldn't say. The Force was a whirl of bad intention, furious incoherence, some long ago wound ripped open violently, the simmering anger underneath far, far too familiar.

He forced his eyes open against the grit of sand being pummelled into his face, stumbled from the doorframe and into the gloom of early morning, the suns rising slowly from the depths of the canyon. He caught sight of the Tuskens, too close, too close, their covered faces numerous and unreadable, hostility radiating upwards from their position in the ravine. If they took the path near the vaporator they would reach the hut in a matter of seconds.

But they paused as Anakin's silhouette rose from the ridge in front of him like a spectre, a ghost, the hiss-hum of his lightsaber being extended nearly lost in the ongoing cacophony of wind. Obi-Wan's pulse thudded against the growing, smothering dark, hand outstretched.

_No_.

He would not be lost, not here, not after everything.

“ _Anakin_ ,” he thought he yelled, but his words were swallowed by the vestiges of the storm. He continued forward, saber-less, determined to reach the ridge before – before what?

_What are you going to do, old man? Get in the way?_

But perhaps he wouldn't have to do anything. As the blue of Anakin's lightsaber illuminated the canyon there rose a guttural, groaning cry from down below that coalesced into a pitchy, terrified wail, and Obi-Wan watched in horrified wonder, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, as their band of would-be attackers retreated behind the suns, banthas and riders disappearing gradually into the horizon, taking their terror with them.

In the sudden silence, he could feel the struggle in the Force as something tried to push back against the darkness that now covered them. He came closer, bare feet scraping against the rocky ground, stomach twisting.

“Anakin,” he tried, the name scraping against his throat. And Anakin turned to him as he approached, no longer something to fear, face bloodless, horrified. His lightsaber dropped to the ground with a muffled thump.

“Anakin,” he said again, reaching out a hand tentatively, the space between them roiling and cold and _why had he waited, why had he let this fester for so long_ and then his apprentice was kneeling down at Obi-Wan's feet, fists clenched in the sand, shoulders shaking, head bent so that his golden curls glinted in the burning light of dawn and the Force twisted with the expectation of remembered pain and something that said ' _tell me what to do I need to be told what to do I have no choice no freedom I don't know how else to **be**_ ' and it was the worst thing that Obi-Wan had ever seen and he was going to be _ill_ -

“ _Get up_ ,” he choked out, the words strangled by the nausea in his throat, “ _get up, get up_ -” and he pulled and grabbed at Anakin's shirt, fingers catching desperately on the rough fabric until he rose out of the sand on legs unwilling and unsteady. Wind whipped around them violently, throwing up dirt and sand and rocks and he tugged his friend (his friend, his brother, his equal, _not a child, not a slave_ ) roughly into his chest, eyes wet.

“Come inside,” he urged quietly into Anakin's ear. “Come inside, you're alright.”

 

It was a lie, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was good at those.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to the latest instalment of Obi-Wan and Anakin Fail Utterly At Dealing With Their Feelings i am so sorry for this complete and utter mess and for the bummer (??) ending, i promise things are going to work out. I can promise this because this chapter was originally going to be much longer but obi-wan wanted more time to brood in the desert so i've shoved the rest of this chapter's original Important Plot Things down a little bit to make the pacing work a little better (????) i hope. obi-wan is still very Sad, but I think this incident may have shocked him into being more of his old self, we'll see. ;)
> 
> anyways, i'm not totally satisfied with this chapter, but at this point i think i'd better just stop messing with it, so here we are! 
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading and please do let me know what you think! if you spot any errors please also let me know (i'm experimenting with my reading glasses and by experimenting i mean sometimes i forget to put them on for long periods of time and it goes... about as well as you'd expect)
> 
> stay chill,  
> \- W


	16. Chapter 16

Together, they stumbled back towards the hut, sand streaking their faces, wind howling behind them. Obi-Wan swallowed back the nausea in his throat and shuffled them through the door that Ahsoka slammed shut forcefully against the wind. The four of them sank, almost in tandem, onto the sleeping platform, pressed together, breathing raggedly. For a while they said nothing, the storm still buffeting the walls surrounding them, the bantha lowing in distress. It was a low, desolate sound.

“I would make tea,” Padmé offered finally, slipping a tiny hand into her husband's, “but we have no water. Or tea leaves, for that matter.”

“The vaporator,” Anakin said, voice raspy, face still bone white. He sat completely still, eyes fixed on the wall opposite them. “I should -”

“I-I can go take a look at it, Skyguy,” Ahsoka offered cautiously, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. A montrail twitched uncertainly.

Padmé shot Obi-Wan a sharp, calculating look over her husband's head, hand still clamped around his.

“Actually, Ahsoka, I was hoping you would come with me to the Claim,” she said instead, turning to look at Ahsoka. “We need to restock, and I could use a cup of caf. Couldn't you?”

Ahsoka frowned and opened her mouth to disagree, glancing worriedly down at her master, but something in the other woman's face must have convinced her. “Okay,” she said, face smoothing out. “I mean, sure. Yes.”

Padmé turned back to Obi-Wan, staring pointedly. Obi-Wan held his tongue, reluctantly impressed. _You've been played, Kenobi_. And she knew it. “You two can join us later, after you've checked the vaporator. We can eat together there. We've survived a week here, I think we deserve a breakfast that's not more dried bantha.”

“If you think we can spare the expense,” he replied, resigned. He had the distinct feeling that she wouldn't take no for an answer. “But we've only one speeder between us.”

“Ahsoka and I will walk,” she said. “It's barely past dawn, it's not too hot yet. You two can take your time.” She stood, yanking on a pair of sand-worn trousers taken from the end of the sleeping pallet under her night shift brusquely. “If we hurry we'll beat the early morning rush.” Her tone was suitably dry – the Pika Oasis was so sparsely populated that the morning rush likely consisted of no more than two people.

Ahsoka stood as well and disappeared into the refresher to change.

“I'm sure I have no say in the matter. If you two are going to be walking, make sure Ahsoka has her lightsabers,” Obi-Wan said quietly, eyes glued to the floor as Padmé pulled a tunic and poncho over her head, blue as the lakes of Naboo, if considerably more worn. “And a comm unit. If you're attacked again -”

“They won't be,” Anakin interjected, eyes still averted but voice deadly certain. Obi-Wan's hair stood on end. He stood, shakily, and retrieved one of the smaller sheets from where it had been pinned to the window. “But there's still sand blowing about. You'll want to keep it out of your face.” Padmé, now dressed, stood patiently as he wrapped the sheet carefully around her head and neck. Her gaze softened.

Obi-Wan sat, something twisting in his chest.

Ahsoka emerged from the 'fresher, face grim. “We forgot to block the windows in there,” she said, snagging a sheet of her own from the floor and winding it around her neck like a scarf. “I hope you like your sonic shower with an extra helping of sand.” There was a collective groan.

“I'll add a broom to the list,” Padmé said, heading for the door and tugging the bottom of the sheet over her mouth. Her next words were muffled. “Come on, 'Junior'.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ahsoka replied, following behind. She glanced behind her as they left, eyes hesitant. “See you later, Masters.”

The silence they left behind was wide and dark. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh, kept his hands carefully still even though they begged to clench together uncertainly. Jedi didn't _fidget._

But they also didn't generally hash out their inner-most feelings whilst trapped in desert huts on backwater planets, either. _Blast you, Padmé._

“The vaporator,” Anakin said finally, before they were swallowed by the quiet. He kept his gaze to the floor. “I'll go check on it.” But as he moved towards the door he stumbled, biting back a curse as one leg collapsed from underneath him. Obi-Wan sprang from the pallet instinctively to catch him, grunting as his taller friend's flailing elbow nearly caught him in the nose. He grabbed Anakin's shaking arm and roughly draped it across his shoulders. The Force flared at the contact, their derelict bond sputtering once more to life, as it had out on the ridge. Obi-Wan almost had to close his eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotion. Emotion – and pain. Pain that now echoed sharply in his own joints, up his spine, into his scalp, something aching but not unfamiliar. _Blast_. He'd forgotten. How could he have forgotten? But it seemed so long ago now, the scans clenched fruitlessly in his fists, Vokara Che's softly administered advice, the smoke and screams in the air. There was nothing of that world that remained, no room for it left in his heart -

“Sorry,” Anakin said, breath ragged, the connection and its intensity hastily muted, “sorry, sorry.”

“Sit,” Obi-Wan ordered grimly, dragging them both back over to the pallet. Guilt churned in his stomach, his ever-present companion. Unreasonable but unquenchable irritation followed, settling in beside it. _Suffering in silence, as usual_. “And don't apologize.” He did sigh, now, scrubbing a hand wearily down his chin. “I should have noticed.”

“There's nothing to notice,” came the reply, as muted and subdued as its owner, only a hint of familiar mutiny, a subtle bitter edge. “It's fine. It's just how it is now.”

“Don't you think we've kept enough secrets between us, Anakin?” he asked harshly, immediately regretting, if not the words, then at least the accusatory tone. But a week, a decade's worth of frustration was sputtering in his throat and he couldn't seem to stop himself. “If you're hurting, you need to tell me.” _You never tell me_.

“And why would I bother telling you?” Anakin shot back belligerently, matching him tone for tone, the Force twisting around them. It was disconcertingly familiar, for all that their arguments had been rare over the past few months. “Most days you can't even stand to look at me!” He swallowed forcefully, jaw clenching, mouth betraying him, as usual. He looked down again, shoulders slumping as the simmering frustration was clumsily, painstakingly reigned in. “I just mean – there's no point. There's nothing you can do. I didn't want to – to bother you.”

“This problem is not completely without solution,” Obi-Wan pointed out irritatedly, smoothing over the clench in his heart. _I'm looking at you now_. “You help no one by keeping it to yourself.”

Anakin was looking at him directly now, one eyebrow raised incredulously. “What am I going to do, Obi-Wan?” he asked scathingly. “Take a hot, relaxing bath?” His face dropped into a familiar but long-forgotten scowl, eyes darting once more away from his former master's own. “I've got a handle on it. It's no one else's concern.”

“You don't deserve to suffer, Anakin, no matter what you might think,” Obi-Wan ground out. He paused. “You wouldn't have bothered me.”

“Could've fooled me,” came the muttered reply. Anakin stood unsteadily, making once more for the door.

“That's not fair, Anakin.” Obi-Wan followed him, bracing himself, though the wind had calmed considerably. His heart was pounding, gut twisting with all the words that hadn't left his mouth, all the things he'd left to _simmer_. “I'm not the one at fault here, don't turn this around.” _Liar, liar. Who trained the boy, Kenobi? Who taught him everything he knows?_ “I'm not the one who betrayed everything I stood for and then lied about it for years. I've never -”

“Never what?” Anakin spun to face him, eyes dark. Against the backdrop of the tiny doorframe, he towered. “Never what, _Master_? Never felt anything, never loved anything, never _lost_ anything?”

A step too far, perhaps, and Anakin knew it.

“You know that's not true,” Obi-Wan said, pulse slowing, sudden exhaustion pumping through his veins instead.

“I do,” Anakin agreed, quieting. “And you're right. I am the one at fault. I did something – something horrible. I think I almost did it again just now.” Obi-Wan breathed in sharply at the declaration, fought the urge to recoil from the stark, shimmering terror woven through the words. “And it's not just that. This entire situation happened because of me, because of what I am – what I might _become_. But you won't -” Anakin's voice broke. “You won't let me try to make up for it. So I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know what you _want from me_.”

Obi-Wan's heart sank in his chest. That was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? ' _Tell me what I'm supposed to do. I don't know how else to_ _ **be**_ _'_. Nothing was freely given, in Anakin's world. Nothing came without a price. Love was paid with love in return. Compassion was paid for with loyalty. Usefulness was paid for with affection, with praise. Wrongs were paid for in blood. Other people's. His own.

That was what was wrong here. He'd taught the boy everything he knew, but he'd never thought to teach him that he wasn't a commodity. That choice was more than an illusion. And now they had all suffered for it.

 

In the future they'd averted they had _died_ for it.

 

“I don't want anything from you,” he said finally. “ I want -”

_I want everything to be right again. I want the world to make sense._

“It doesn't matter what I want.” He stepped closer, gratified when his former apprentice met his gaze, hesitantly. _Get over yourself and make this right_. “Not everything in life is conditional, Anakin. Not everything demands a price.” He took a breath. “And forgiveness – forgiveness costs nothing at all.”

For a moment, Anakin simply stared at him, expression heartbreakingly cautious. Then came a great tearing in the Force, not painful like the one they'd felt on Coruscant, but unfathomably bright. Like the clouds had parted.

“Master-” Anakin said, looking as though he might collapse from relief.

“Oh, come here,” Obi-Wan said, fondly resigned. He held out his arms, throat clogging unexpectedly as the feeling of being affectionately barrelled into recalled similar scenes from long ago. The sandy curls hadn't changed, he thought with a rush of fondness, though the head that they belonged to no longer came only to his waist.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin mumbled into his shoulder, gratitude leaking out into the Force, the strength of his relief making them both light-headed.

“You're alright,” he said, no longer certain it was a lie. A promise, maybe. He brought a hand up to the back of Anakin's head. “We'll be alright.” He untangled himself from Anakin's grasp and held him out at arm's length, still not entirely convinced his former apprentice wouldn't just collapse the minute he let go. He met his eyes, red-rimmed, exhausted. But – hopeful. They had work to do still – damage always took time to repair. They were deeply flawed, all of them, and he had no doubt that the days ahead would be filled with hardship. With despair. But, their connection reforged, it was impossible to ignore the singing threads of yellow in the Force that were holding their lives together. Hope brought about by sheer force of will. He could almost bring himself to feel it. _Remarkable_. “I've missed the strength of your belief.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” Anakin replied, a hint of colour returning to his cheeks. He smiled, a real smile – one of those rare, delighted grins, all teeth. Like the suns coming out.

“As did I,” Obi-Wan said, feeling that familiar whisper of his master in the Force. “Though lately, I think I've done a rather poor job of showing it.” _Are you watching us? Do you guide me still?_ “Go on, then,” he said, smiling. “Show me how this vaporator works.”

“Well,” Anakin started as they made their way slowly down the path, happy as always to explain something to his former master, having clearly been waiting for the eventual opportunity, “they're not overly complicated machines, really, but I haven't seen one for years and years and they're nothing like an engine, not really -”

Obi-Wan tuned him out fondly, intervening occasionally to grab him by the back of his shirt when he stumbled – something would have to be done about that – and make the right interested noises in the right places. The vaporator soon loomed before them, glinting in the early morning suns. The night's coolness was dissipating, the heat of day beginning to make itself known in the glare of the light and the sweat on his brow. Anakin darted forward eagerly, jumping down into the underground pit containing the storage tanks with a thump and a muffled “ _E chu ta_!”. Obi-Wan slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe and waited, chest filling with pride at the ensuing whoop that echoed upwards. Anakin clambered out of the pit.

“We have water,” he said, grinning. “It works!”

“I told you we didn't need the bantha,” Obi-Wan said, turning to head back towards the hut to hide his smile.

“Don't let Madame hear you say that, you'll hurt her feelings.”

“Not you, too,” he said, dismayed.

“Face it, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, clapping a hand on his back. “She's growing on you.”

 

 

*

 

They took the speeder to Dannar's Claim, the wind finally quiet enough that they didn't run the risk of being blown off a ridge. Obi-Wan insisted on driving, ostensibly because he didn't want to lose last night's dinner, but more practically because he wasn't entirely certain his apprentice could actually see all that well. He did well enough to hide it (just as he'd hidden the persistent ache and sometimes agony brought about by Palpatine's wrath), but he was tired and out of practice, had grown used to being out of Obi-Wan's mental reach. Obi-Wan felt that familiar twist of guilt and grief in his stomach and released it, tried to make peace with his decisions. All that would be different now. They had to be more honest with each other, or they would be lost.

And he'd be damned if they were taken out by a bit of blurred vision before they managed to take out the Chancellor first.

Anakin had protested, as usual, but it was a token resistance. That, more than anything, was proof of his altered state, though Obi-Wan supposed it might also have been borne of residual guilt.

_At least you're consistent_ , he thought, scalding air ruffling his hair as his hood was thrown back.

Soon enough, Dannar's Claim rose on the horizon, past the scant few settlements that marked the path between the Jundland Wastes and the Pika Oasis. Obi-Wan brought the speeder to a stop a few metres from the Claim, taking in the ramshackle establishment critically. It looked like most of the buildings on Tatooine – a series of synthstone structures, shaped vaguely like domes. He could hear the bleat and cry of animals, out of sight, and the drone of machinery. He had stayed behind the last time, uninterested in the building of their new life here. The fog of disillusionment he'd been living under momentarily dispelled, he couldn't deny he was interested. Then buried in vaporator parts, Anakin had missed their first outing here as well.

“Could be worse,” he shrugged, heading towards the entrance, kicking up sand in his wake.

“I suppose you would know,” Obi-Wan agreed, following behind. The inside looked much the same, the floor hardly more than tightly packed sand, but it did bring them to the company of Ahsoka and Padmé, seated calmly at a table in a front corner of the small shop. A tiny cantina seemed to serve as a restaurant, the back of the building lined with shelves of goods.

“You made it,” Ahsoka said, smiling over her cup of caf. “We were beginning to wonder if maybe you'd fallen into the vaporator pit.”

“Had to fight off a krayt dragon,” Anakin said casually, sliding into an empty seat beside Padmé. “Speaking of which, we got the vaporator working, Snips.”

Ahsoka grinned in reply. “Like there was any doubt.”

“Good work, you two,” Padmé said, before glancing at Obi-Wan with a raised eyebrow. “Krayt dragon?” she enquired.

“Slain,” he replied. “With no small amount of work, I might add. But I'm glad I had a friend to help me.”

She smiled.

“Hey,” Ahsoka interjected, sliding her empty cup to the centre of the table, “while you order breakfast, can I go look at the animals?”

“Go for it, Snips,” Anakin said. “I mean – Junior.”

“Thanks!” And she was off, the door left swinging in her wake.

“What sort of animals?” Anakin asked, taking a sip of caf out of his wife's cup. She snatched it back, swatting at his arm.

“All kinds. But she's got her eye on an old eopie,” Padmé said, raising the cup to her own lips.

Obi-Wan groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Absolutely not,” he said. He lowered his voice to a hiss. “We're going to be running a highly secretive, well-organized and very professional rebel movement, not a _farm_.”

His companions stilled.

“You mean – we're really going to do this?” Anakin asked quietly, leaning forward. “Actually try to fight him, not just hide out in the desert?”

“I think it's high time we got this galaxy back to the way it ought to be, don't you?” Obi-Wan asked in return, heart pounding. His fists clenched. “Don't look at me like that, Anakin, this is all your doing. Your blasted optimism is contagious. I haven't the first idea how we might begin, but we're going to start today. In fact -”

The Force flared, bright, sharp, warm like the suns above them. His comm chirped once. Twice. Beside him, Padmé gasped.

Hand shaking, he tugged the comm out of his cloak pocket and deposited it on the table. No words were needed. The three of them huddled around it to keep prying eyes and ears away, muffled the outgoing sound with the Force.

He pressed receive.

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” came the muffled reception, audio only, crackling with effort. It was barely loud enough to understand, broken up by the immense distance, the sound grainy with static, but it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. Something blossomed in his chest, warm and bright and yellow. _Hope_.

 

“ _Hear me, can you?_ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goooooood, here we go friends. How's that for a brief interlude of slight and cautious happiness?? I make no promises for its continuation, but I thought we were all due a bit of a break. what did I tell y'all about not everybody being dead? ;)
> 
> It feels good to have things finally smoothed over a bit between ani and obi-wan - I entertained thoughts about dragging their little conflict out a bit longer, just because I think it would have been a plausible way of going about things, but honestly i think it would have also been a major bummer. They've been having problems for long enough, i think, and I like them both much better when they're getting along ;) not to say that their problems are completely over (ha. hA) but this was kind of their main beef and they're mostly over it now. hope everything came across as I intended! with regard to Anakin, I certainly don't want to ever be the person that just absolves him of all wrongdoing in these types of situations - he's still got a lot to answer for here. but i've always thought that obi-wan (and especially the jedi council just generally speaking lol) could have handled things wayyyyy better than they did (though I think obi-wan always did try his best within the ridiculous emotional constraints of the order).
> 
> also, I feel like I should mention that the Pika Oasis and Dannar's Claim (and the characters that will eventually pop up along with them) are all from the book Kenobi (which is basically 300 pages of obi-wan being really sad in the desert with kind of a semi-racist (not sure it was intentional??? i might be imagining it??) cowboys and indians plot with the tusken raiders in the background, if you haven't read it. possible semi-racism aside, it was pretty good and I really enjoyed the side characters). i'm not always crazy in depth with the research here, but I do try to mostly take stuff from existing canon when i can (and more often legends canon, just because i'm slightly more familiar with it) (also wookieepedia is a goddamn giFT). The planet Kabal is also a legit place, and Commander Dovu was meant to be the daughter of Kabal's premier, who was killed in the food riots. Idek if that stuff is even interesting, but just in case anyone was dying to know lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for sticking with this story! There's more on the way. Please let me know what you think! It's always a pleasure to hear.  
> Yours,  
> \- W


	17. Chapter 17

 

Even the air felt lighter now, Anakin thought, pressed between Obi-Wan and Padmé as they sped across the desert. Less hot, less oppressive. A slight breeze ruffled through his hair, leftovers of the storm. They weren't speeding very fast, to accommodate the slower pace of their newest companion, a tired old eopie that Ahsoka had adamantly refused to leave behind.

She'd caught Obi-Wan in the right mood, evidently. He'd barely protested. Compared to the fuss he'd kicked up about poor Madame -

But he had all the reason to be in a better mood, now. Master Yoda was _alive_. Not only alive, but in the care of Senator Organa. And not just him, though the frequency of the comm hadn't allowed for the clearest communication. Almost all of the Jedi that had accompanied Master Yoda to Mon Cala had survived, and a group hiding out on Lothal, and a few that had been out on assignment, a group of younglings that been smuggled out of the Temple while it burned -

They weren't alone anymore.

And they weren't the complete pariahs that Anakin had thought they might become.

“Public sentiment is mixed,” Organa had said, voice crackling quietly through the comm. “On one hand, people are afraid to say too much. The Republic – the _Empire_ is different now. Things might not have reached the Outer Rim yet, but in the Core it's like a different world. No one is free to say what they'd like, now, not even in private. But anyone with any sense can tell that what happened to the Jedi was unjust and unfair. There are people throughout the galaxy that will fight for you. Fight _with_ you. I've had to be cautious. I have – I have a wife. We're trying to start a family.” There had been a pause. “But know that Alderaan will stand with you, when the time comes. You have my word. And until that time, when we can fight openly, I will assist you in whatever way I can.”

Anakin had watched the colour drain back into Obi-Wan's cheeks, seen the spark reignite behind his eyes. Padmé's knuckles white against his, her eyebrows drawn determinedly, he'd felt something slot back into place. This was what they were good at. What they were _meant_ to be doing.

Even if he wasn't entirely certain exactly _what_ they were doing. They hadn't spoken with anyone for very long, ended the communication with a promise that they'd be contacted again, that there would be people – _rebels_ , he corrected himself, heart pounding, they were _rebels_ now – coming to them, soon.

Tatooine, farthest from the bright spot of the universe, dry as a bone and about as interesting, the base for a rebellion. The idea was ridiculous. But he saw the sand swirling in the corner of his eye, felt the heat beat down on his back, familiar as if he'd never left, and remembered the stories his mother had told him as a child, about dragons and tricksters under the hot desert suns, about clever slaves outwitting their masters and winning their freedom, and he thought, _maybe this is right_.

But they needed a cover, first and foremost. They were already a motley, odd-looking bunch, and that was without the supposedly incoming group of the galaxy's most wanted.

“A farm,” Ahsoka was suggesting, walking at as fast a pace as she could manage – which, at the moment, was as fast a pace as the wheezing eopie could manage, a scraggly piece of rope tied carefully around its neck, the lead clutched in Ahsoka's hand. “The people that are coming, they could be – farm hands. That we've hired. We might be kind of broke, but no one else around here has to know that.”

“That idea has possibility,” Obi-Wan agreed, voice raised to counter the hiss and sputter of the speeder's engine as they chugged along. “But at the moment we've hardly enough equipment to justify a farm. Nor do we have enough room to keep everyone. I wonder if a Mos Espa faction might -”

“I could build more vaporators,” Anakin interjected, some instinct twisting in his gut. “If I had the parts. We're isolated, out here. It's safer.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in agreement.

“Ani's right,” Padmé said. “We should avoid the space port as much as possible. Avoid suspicion as much as possible. The less people that think they've seen us, the better.”

“It's not gonna be easy,” Ahsoka muttered, barely audible over the engine and the sand.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Obi-Wan replied.

The made their way, together, over the sandy dunes towards the cliffs that held their home. It took a while – the eopie was slow, and Obi-Wan was a frustratingly cautious driver, at least when they weren't being actively pursued. Anakin thought he fell asleep for the last leg of the journey, awoke finally with his head pillowed on Padmé's shoulder, the speeder grinding to a halt as Ahsoka's eopie stumbled to a stop beside them.

“Come meet Madame,” she said, grinning, guiding the old animal to where Madame was hitched, behind the hut. Obi-Wan shook his head, jumping down from the speeder with a grunt. He held a hand out for Anakin, somehow knowing instinctively that his damaged knees wouldn't take kindly to the dismount without help. He took the hand grudgingly, without complaint, communicating his gratitude through the Force rather than his face. He wasn't an – an _invalid_. And he didn't deserve it.

But the hand did help.

“It's been a long day,” was all Obi-Wan said, in fairness providing a hand for Padmé as well. His wife was tiny, though. For her it probably was a long way down from the speeder.

“Well, it's not over yet,” Anakin said, over the slightly alarming braying and snorting coming from behind the hut. He caught a faint ' _woah, Madame_!' and frowned. “I have an idea. Come with me down to the vaporator?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said.

Padmé turned in the direction Ahsoka had left. “I think I'd better see if Ahsoka needs any help getting our new friend...acclimated,” she said, one eyebrow raised dryly. “Good luck, you two.”

“And you as well,” Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head again. “Pathetic lifeforms,” Anakin thought he muttered. “Good riddance.” They made their way down to the vaporator, the path now well-worn and slightly less treacherous. Anakin jumped into the pit beside it, joints protesting. Obi-Wan followed, cloak billowing behind him. The pit where the moisture was collected was man-made, carved out of the desert rock underneath them, partially covered by the cliffs above them, ruddy and sharp. It was perfect.

“Well?” Anakin asked, gesturing outwards. “What do you think?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do I think of...what, exactly?”

“This! It's a _cave_ ,” Anakin said, waiting expectantly.

“A cave,” his old master repeated. “And?”

Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes, crossing his arms instead. He turned to Obi-Wan.

“A _cave_ ,” he said, “that could be made into a _bigger cave_. A cave that could do a good job of hiding all of our...extracurricular activities? Think about it, Obi-Wan. If we excavated further underneath the cliff, we could make a huge space. Enough to house people and equipment, but keep them out of sight.”

Obi-Wan placed a hand on the wall of the pit, frowning dubiously. “In theory, I suppose. But that would take an awful lot of work. _Dangerous work_ , Anakin. We'd need support for it, to keep the cliff from crashing down on our heads. Something like this would need constant maintenance.”

Anakin gestured to himself. “Good thing you've got me, then. I can do this, Obi-Wan. Design it so it doesn't fall onto our heads, maintain it so it's safe. This is a good idea,” he insisted. _Let me do this, let me do something good_. “Besides, what else can we do? We have no idea how many people might be coming, what condition they'll be in. We have no room for them otherwise, and no room for whatever we're gonna need to run this thing.”

“We do seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of resources at the moment,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Hopefully Bail will come through on that front.” He paused, breathing out through his nose. He looked at Anakin. “You're sure you can do this? Safely?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said. “I _know_ I can.” It was the most certain he'd been in a long while. _Let me do this_.

Obi-Wan ran a tired hand down his beard. “All right, then,” he said. “Let's build a cave.”

 

 

*

 

It turned out that the technicalities of building a secret underground cave were slightly more complicated than he'd initially anticipated (but really, what else was new?). They would need beams for support, eventually, other building supplies that they could only get in Anchorhead, some maybe only in Mos Espa. Anakin found himself missing Artoo with a painful sort of ache in his chest that he'd almost forgotten in the rush of the past couple days. Not only for his skill in bringing Anakin's schematics to life and mathematical accuracy (though that would have been helpful too), but for his companionship. He hoped the little droid had made it, somehow.

In any case, they were nowhere near the actual clearing out of the eventual cave-dwelling, for the moment stuck cracking the rock bed with the Force and removing the resulting boulders. Exhausting, both the moving of the rocks once they'd been created, but also the cracking of the rock itself. They had to use the Force to determine precisely where to inflict damage, break the solid wall without bringing down anything on top of them (or the vaporator, arguably more precious and certainly more expensive). It was tedious, dangerous work, even with the three of them, Padmé on frustrated standby in case anything went wrong. She clearly hated being relegated to the sidelines, forced to watch. When they finally got the supplies they needed (inevitably sucking up the last of their credits, though that was a problem for another day) he knew she'd be right down there with them, Force or no Force.

It was back-breaking. Difficult. But necessary. He had no doubt that this was the right way to go about things. He was doing something right. He hoped. They just needed to _finish_.

And in that lay the problem.

“Absolutely not,” Padmé was saying, voice sharp in his ears through the pounding of his head. They were seated on the sleeping platform, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan already up and about. He heard the tell-tale clank of Obi-Wan's tea pot being set on the fire, winced as the sound drove another spike through his brain. The admittedly blurry image in front of him wavered nauseatingly. “You're staying here today,” she continued. “If you could see your own face you'd agree with me.”

Some days were harder than others, though he'd fight tooth and nail to deny it. It wasn't _that_ bad. In truth he'd grown used to the feeling of constantly spasming muscles, the grinding, spine-tingling ache in his limbs, the one that sometimes reached up past his neck to assault his skull instead, like it was doing today.

Compared to the dreams he still sometimes had, the ones that ended in flames, the ones where he sometimes didn't _have_ any limbs -

Well, he figured it was a small price to pay.

“The excavation -” he protested, fighting to keep his voice level. His hands clenched in the bedsheets. He didn't want to just lay around all day, not when there was work to be done, not when it would leave him at the mercy of his own head for hours.

“- isn't going anywhere, Ani. We have plenty of time to get it ready before everyone arrives,” Padmé interjected, covering his fist with her hand. “You can rest today.”

“I'm fine,” he ground out, breathing carefully through his nose. It wasn't that bad, it was just -

Something crashed to the floor – Obi-Wan's tea pot, he wondered faintly as he bit down on his tongue, fighting back the pained moan that wanted to escape his mouth. Jagged lines skated their way across his line of sight, marring the blurry (but undoubtedly beautiful – he didn't need to be able to see clearly to know _that_ ) face of his wife. But Obi-Wan would never be so careless as to drop something as precious to him as a teapot -

_Ahsoka_ , he thought, catching a fragmented glimpse of what he thought was likely an exasperatedly raised eyebrow from Padmé, _Ahsoka's making the tea_.

“Sorry!” she called out, chagrin resonating through the Force, voice like shards of glass being driven into his head. “It's fine, it's just a little – uh, chipped.”

An answering echo of muted resignation floated through the Force as Obi-Wan exited the 'fresher, a moving brown blob, feet stamping all too loudly on the tightly packed ground.

“Teapots don't grow on trees, Ahsoka,” he said mildly, robes brushing against the sleeping pallet. “Do endeavour to be a little bit more cautious.”

“I will, Master,” she answered, clanging the teapot back onto the flame. Anakin winced.

“Everything all right?” Obi-Wan asked, turning towards them. He felt an inquisitive prod through their bond, intrusive and a little bit rude – certainly not the kind of thing his old master would normally have done, though Anakin himself had never let unspoken rules of Jedi decorum stop himself from doing the same. He did his best to swat the mental presence away, trying to wall off the pain – there was no reason to share it, no reason for his friends to suffer too.

“Get out,” he told Obi-Wan, frowning. “I told you, I'm fine. We're going to clear the inner-most cavern today, right?” He grit his teeth and prepared to stand, trying not to squint too conspicuously.

“He really is a terrible liar,” Obi-Wan commented, presumably to Padmé. “It's a wonder you two managed to keep your marriage a secret for so long.”

“Sometimes I have a hard time believing it myself,” Padmé replied, patting his hand briefly. “Come on, Ani, give it up.”

“Pour him a cup of tea, would you Ahsoka?”

“I don't want any tea, I'm _fine_ -”

“Fine,” Padmé said. “Prove it. No using the Force, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Her hand left his to float tauntingly a few feet from his face, fingers shaping into what was presumably a numerical representation. Frustration churned in the back of his throat.

“Two,” he said, trying to make it sound certain and less like the wild guess that it was. He could see her hand, of course – he could see everything just _fine_ , it was just a bit – blurry, and the nauseating pain wrapping around his skull and down his spine wasn't helping. The world had been spinning mercilessly ever since he'd opened his eyes. But it was all fine, he was used to this, it was just a bit – _more_ , today. It would go away on its own like it always did if they just _let him be_. “Three? I don't – why does that matter, we're moving rocks with the Force. You don't have to be able to _see them_.”

Padmé moved the hand to her face and sighed. She slid off the bed.

“Alright, I tried. This one's yours, Master Kenobi.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean? Padmé, angel -”

Obi-Wan moved to block his view, settling down into the spot she'd vacated. _Decidedly less angelic._

“It's my pleasure, Senator,” he called back to Padmé, who had fled into the refresher to get dressed. Now he pressed something small and round into Anakin's hand and raised what Anakin knew from experience would be two fingers in the air, threateningly close to his head. “Take a pain suppressor and go back to bed, Anakin,” he threatened mildly, leaning in, “or I'll knock you out with the Force.”

Part of leading a battle was knowing when to make a retreat – he knew that in theory, even if in practice he'd never really had much occasion to try it. But he and Obi-Wan were trying to make things better, trying to make things right again, and if maintaining the peace meant giving in for once (even if he didn't deserve it, not their worry, not the glass of water about to be pressed into his hand, not the painkiller clutched in his palm), well -

He forcibly unclenched his jaw. “When you put it like that,” he said. “Fine. But be careful out there, would you?”

A burst of pleased affection in the Force, muted because it was Obi-Wan and except in times of Extreme Danger displays of excessive emotion were positively scandalous. Anakin prodded back, if only to have the metaphysical last word and swallowed the pill, washing it down with the tea Ahsoka handed him. It was too hot and too earthy for his taste, but even back on Coruscant he'd never been one to waste water. Here, the thought was even more ludicrous. Even if it tasted like defeat.

Obi-Wan took the empty cup from him and pressed his head back down onto the pillow gently, a gingery blur above him. A cool hand, somehow smooth and uncalloused despite everything, brushed a curl from his forehead.

“We'll be careful. Sleep well, Anakin.”

 

 

 

 

 

He didn't take the heavy duty sort of painkillers very often – he didn't very often need them, no matter what Obi-Wan said. He was the Chosen One, for kriff's sake. Or at least he'd thought he was, back then. In any case, destiny and prophecy aside, he could take a lot of damage, could bounce back from almost anything. Pain was an inconvenience, sure – but he didn't like the way they made him feel, didn't like the loss of control, the cotton-mouthed nausea. Didn't like being trapped in his own dreams.

Now, after everything, he expected more of the same, more of what he saw practically every night, what he'd been seeing every night since Mortis, his world on fire, his wife's throat in his hands, Obi-Wan's saber at his throat, the hissing, omnipresent rasp of a respirator, all wrong, wrong -

But what he got instead was inky darkness, thick like smog. Different, somehow, from the cold and slimy blackness that sometimes slid itself between his eyes, wound its way into his heart. It was disconcerting, at first, no up or down or sideways, only – dark. But for once there was no smoke in the air or people dead by his hand and it was almost sort of calm in a way. There was no pain here and he didn't deserve this but maybe he could finally rest for a while after all and he could have wept in relief -

And someone appeared, out of the darkness, a softly glowing figure fading into existence slowly, like Anakin himself had, coalescing into someone small and cloaked, bearded and sad. Old. Confused. Eyebrows over a pair of piercing blue eyes drew together, frowning. The Force, if there was the Force here in this non-place, trembled.

“What?” Anakin said, something churning in his gut. If this was a dream, it wasn't something dredged up from his subconscious. He'd never seen the other man before. Except there was something a bit – familiar. Piercing blue eyes. Truthfully, the figure looked a little bit like Obi-Wan at his most morose, hands jammed into the sleeves of his robe, suffering quietly. But that wasn't quite it.

The eyes, he realized, staring. They were his own. But that wasn't where he'd seen them before.

“You're the boy on the ship,” he whispered, hands shaking, voice echoing oddly. The Force twisted with truth. He wondered if perhaps the usual flames and dismemberment might actually be preferable to this. “From the vision.”

The stranger seemed to disregard this, stepping closer, peering at him in disbelief.

“...Father?”

Anakin trembled, eyes closing in horror. _Father_. The boy on the ship, the one with the blue eyes and the pleading voice, the one he'd been trying to _kill_ -

“No,” he said, “no, that's _impossible_.”

The older figure – his – his _son_ – snorted and shook his head ruefully. “Believe it or not, that's pretty much exactly what I said. But,” he looked up again, eyes hauntingly familiar but twinkling with some quality he'd grown to look for in Obi-Wan and Master Yoda's eyes, some wisdom born of age, “you should know that. You were there, you know.” One of his hands was made of metal, like Anakin's, but stripped of any covering, and it twitched slightly in response or remembrance. “So something isn't quite -” He prodded into the Force, dove into it briefly looking for answers. He was strong, unrestrained, not poorly trained, but – _different_ than any Jedi or Force-user he'd ever encountered. Anakin had to reel his own Force signature back in as it surged forward, seeking contact, recognizing – well, _something_. The Force was thick here, bright somehow despite the surrounding darkness. They were practically coated in it. “Oh,” the other man said, eyes widening. His face softened and for a moment he looked so much like Padmé that Anakin felt something inside his chest crack. Even if the Force hadn't been whispering in his ear, wrapping him in the truth, that alone would have confirmed it. “You weren't there. You're from – somewhere else.”

“Somewhere...else?” Anakin croaked, wishing with all his heart to wake up, preferably with a stiff drink in hand.

His son frowned, rubbing a hand down his beard. “Well, you'd have to be.” he glanced up, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled softly. “The father I know died a long time ago, but that doesn't mean we don't still talk sometimes. You're...different.”

“Different.” _Thank the Force_. “Then...you're from the galaxy the vision came true in,” Anakin said, throat clogging with mounting horror, ignoring for a moment the strange implications of the other man's words. _Don't still talk sometimes?_

_Maybe all the emotional trauma I apparently put him through drove him insane._

The robed figure stepped forward, brow crinkling.“Vision?”

“I saw the future,” Anakin admitted. “It was shown to me on a planet imbued with the Force. I saw what I become – _became_. I couldn't let it happen.”

An echo of grief shuddered through the Force, free of bitterness and all the worse for it. There was no resentment, no hostility, no bitter longing for what could have been – only a deep and unrelenting sadness, stark in its singularity.

“Through the Force all things are possible,” the other man said wistfully, drawing his hands back into his sleeves. He looked to be on the verge of a shrug. “Ben died before I could ask him everything and he almost never talks to me anymore, unless its an emergency, and what few holocrons we managed to save never said anything about – well, this, but -” he broke off mid-ramble and looked up again, marvelling. And then he frowned. “But if you've already changed the future then why are we here?”

_Because the Force decided I haven't finished suffering yet_ , came the thought, unbidden.

“I don't know,” he said, wishing he had a robe of his own to cram his shaking hands into. He had a _child_. A child he'd tried to _murder_. It was unthinkable. He and Padmé were always _very careful_. They'd never talked about children, never even considered – (though he saw the way she sometimes looked at Sola's family, sometimes found his eye drawn towards couples on the street, kids trailing at their heels and thought 'what if?', but the idea had been ridiculous then, impossible, _unattainable_ ) – nine _kriffing_ hells, how had all of this happened? “Maybe – maybe I haven't done it right. I've tried to change things, fix them, but -” He looked down into the familiar gaze in front of him. “Sometimes I wonder if I haven't just made everything worse. I don't know what I'm supposed to do next. The galaxy still fell, _years_ before it was supposed to. The Jedi Order has collapsed. Palpatine has what he always wanted. And I'm not sure I'm strong enough to – to defeat him.”

It wasn't something he'd admitted before, though the thought coloured every breath he took, haunted every dream he had.

His son tilted his head, puzzled. “Of course you are,” he said certainly, stepping even closer, bridging the gap between them. He seemed remarkably at ease with the figure who had at one point apparently expended considerable effort trying to kill him. Anakin had a brief flash of a darkened hallway behind his eyes, dredged up from Mortis, caught a glimpse of blond hair and a defiant glare as the boy flung himself over the edge _kriffing hells_ \- “But – but maybe you don't know that. Maybe you never got the whole story.”

Anakin swallowed. “Whole story?”

“Your vision,” his son said. “Did it show you the end?”

Anakin shook his head, confused. “The end? No, it showed me – it showed me what I _did_. It was a ploy, a trick of the dark side.”

Another smile. How was the other man so placidly calm? It was almost enough to make him question their relation. Anakin didn't think he'd ever been calm about anything in his life. “Well, that explains it then. No darksider would every want you to know the truth.” His son reached for his hand – kriff, he was small, it figured, Padmé was so tiny, stars above how was this _happening_ – looking up at him intently. “It's not a horror story, you know, or a tragedy. It's a story about _redemption_.” He said it certainly, with the kind of familiar cadence that meant he'd said it before, had been saying it for a very long time. Believed it, too, though Anakin wondered if the rest of the galaxy was similarly convinced.

The kid was a Skywalker, so probably not.

“Redemption?” Anakin asked, fingers curling around the warm and calloused hand almost without thought. He caught another flash of the other man's bottomless grief, some horrific loneliness, soaking into the surrounding darkness. No one had held that hand for a very long time. “I don't – how can that be?”

His son stilled. “It's a long story – I'm not sure how much of it you've been able to see. But, at the very end, after everything – I went aboard his ship. The Emperor's. He was going to kill me. I felt – I felt sure I was going to die at his hand, but I didn't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to give myself over to the dark side. I believed in you.” The Force glowed briefly, impossibly, with an echo of something bright and unconditional.

_Father, please._

“And you saved me. You defeated the Emperor and you gave your life for me. You came back to the Light, Father.”

Back to the Light. It shouldn't have meant anything. It shouldn't have _changed_ anything, he had still fallen in the first place, had still made decisions so horrible that even their hazy afterimage in his mind, bursting with knowledge of the future, made bile rise in his throat. And yet -

Anakin felt the air leave his chest, wondered fleetingly what would happen in this non-space if his legs collapsed from under him, if he would simply fall and fall forever into the inky night.

“You mean I -”

“ _Yes._ ” The hand tightened around his own. The other man's – _his son's_ – faith burned around them, almost desperately. He swallowed. “Nothing is set in stone. _There's always a choice_. And sometimes – sometimes people make the right one.” He paused. “Maybe – maybe you weren't the only one who needed to remember that.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Anakin breathed, pausing as he realized he'd never taken a moment to ask the man's name. “I'm sorry, I -”

“Luke,” he filled in, letting go of his hand. He was starting to blur around the edges, glowing softly against the dark. “My name is Luke.”

Anakin felt himself smile. “Thank you, Luke.”

Luke grinned in answer, face brightening with a hint of mischief. A hint of the boy he must have been poked through the tired mask. “I have a sister, too, you know.”

Anakin choked.

“A – a what?” His own hands were becoming more transparent before his eyes, fading into the dark. Running out of time, he thought, mind racing. “ _What_?”

The expression became more solemn, wistful. “You two are a lot alike, actually. Maybe that's why you never got along very well.”

He was more than see-through now, barely a shape. Impulsively, Anakin leaned forward, the transparent fingers of his real hand, the human one, reaching for his son's face, kindness etched into the lines, and some impossible sadness. Padmé's child. Regret pooled in his gut, solidifying like a stone.

A hand reached up to cover his.

“Not your fault,” Luke said, somehow knowing. “Not in this universe. And even in mine -” his voice cracked, just slightly. “You came through for me, in the end. I have to believe that things will get better. That people always have a choice. In a way, it was you who taught me that.” He smiled, form growing ever fainter. Anakin watched their hands fade into the black, softly. “So thank you, Father. And,” his voice echoed as his physical presence evaporated, “ _good luck!_ ”

 

 

 

Anakin woke with a start.

Still dark around him, the heat of the suns long gone. It was night – had he been asleep the whole day? It felt impossible. But his mouth felt cottony, eyelids heavy, and he could hear Madame snoring on the other side of the wall. Though that might have been Obi-Wan, actually. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the morning's blurriness seemingly banished for the moment, he could pick out his old master with his back against the wall of the alcove, arms crossed, drooling slightly. Padmé shifted against his side, hair loose, dark curls fanning against her face, and Ahsoka had somehow wedged herself under his arm and was tucked against his other side. They smelled of sand and dust. He snorted softly, wondering what Master Yoda would think of the arrangement, a pleased warmth settling in his chest. Padmé's' eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“How are you feeling?” she whispered groggily, pulling the scant bedcover over them more securely.

“Better,” he answered truthfully, belatedly, pathetically grateful for their interference. It was funny, how sometimes you didn't realize how much something hurt until it stopped. He could _think_ again. For now, at least.

“Good,” she mumbled back, throwing an arm around his chest. “You were out for a while, but Obi-Wan thought you probably needed it. You talk in your sleep, you know.”

He frowned. “I do?”

“Mm-hm. Hey,” she snuggled closer. “Who's Luke?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. _I barely believe it myself._ Maybe the entire thing had been some odd, painkiller induced hallucination. He would ask Obi-Wan about it tomorrow.

Padmé hmmed. Then she smirked and jammed her freezing toes underneath his knee, eliciting a muffled yelp.

“Luke,” she said softly, eyes closing once more. “That's a nice name.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm heading off on vacation for a bit soon, so I thought I'd better post something before I left lol. I have..mixed feelings about this chapter? it's a little bit filler, but there's still some important plot and character points that are getting dumped here, so I wanted to leave it in. apologies as always for what is essentially first-draft writing - the thing about myself is that if I don't post things essentially as they are written, I'm not sure I'd ever finish anything, u feel? so the tradeoff is that sometimes things are a little bit rough. rest assured, I have a big massive edit planned once this thing is finally complete, but until then bear with me <3
> 
> I was so conflicted about luke in this, partially because we've received basically nothing as to his characterization in TFA and onwards, and we still don't really know what happened to him, so I wanted to keep things vague. Hopefully he came off as recognizable at least - I love luke to bits but I feel like I don't know him well enough to really dive into writing him yet. We'll see - there might be more to come outside of this 'verse ;)
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading and please do let me know what you think (and if you spot any errors my late-night brain missed entirely lol)
> 
> all my love,  
> \- W


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back, just in time to bring the Empire to Tatooine...

 

From then on, the days passed with both breathtaking speed and an infuriating slowness, marked by the goings and comings of the suns, the movement of the stars across Tatooine's vast, endless sky. Padmé, to her ever-present frustration, could only watch as the caverns underneath the cliff grew deeper, as their small and spindly garden grew to new heights above ground. It was not quite homey, but it was a home. It was _theirs_.

When she'd been younger, what felt like eons ago, her home had been Naboo. Naboo, where her parents were, with Sola and the rest of her family. Naboo, where she'd grown. For a while after she'd left, she'd continued to think of it as such – Coruscant, for all its sleek beauty could never quite compete with the glamour and rustic, ancient appeal of her homeworld.

And it hadn't had her family, of course.

But she'd grown used to it. Being so near to Ani had helped. And while she loved her family more than anything, she had left wanting nothing more than to help people, to make a difference in the galaxy – a bit of homesickness was nothing in the face of that then-lofty goal. She huffed a quiet laugh, not quite bitter, but with an edge she hadn't known she was capable of, turning from the path down to the vaporator to glance back at their ramshackle hut.

_Homesick doesn't even begin to cover it_ , she thought. Every moment she lived was filled with fear for her family – the one on Naboo –

\- and the one that she'd made.

She paused in thought, gritted her teeth as a slobbering, wet, chewing sound made its way around the back of their hut to her ears.

Even though they could sometimes be a stubborn-willed, sand-covered, suicidal bunch of bantha-brained _idiots_. The lot of them, but especially her beloved husband.

“ _Ani_ ,” she called into the sad excuse for a garden, mood souring, “please tell me you didn't leave the sheets I told you to hang up within eating distance of the eopie!”

Anakin's golden head, hair lightened by the suns, popped up from the dry, tangled thistle of plants he was weeding, face paling.

“Uh -” he said, glancing side to side for potential backup and finding none. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan were down in the vaporator pit, gathering mushrooms for dinner, the heavy work done for the day. He looked back at her helplessly. Guiltily.

“ _Anakin_ ,” she said, exasperated, traipsing into the garden, stepping carefully over their meagre collection of desert greens. “That's our only set of spare sheets. If something happens to the other set all we'll have to sleep on is Obi-Wan's _cloak_.” They had managed on it, their first couple days in the hut, but it had gotten old fast. It wasn't quite large enough to cover all four of them comfortably, and it smelled of smoke and sweat and sand, no matter how many times she tried to scrub it out. All things they'd do better without. _He knew this_.

“Sorry, angel,” Anakin said, grimacing. He set aside the cloth sack he was using for the weeds. “I'll go rescue them, just -”

“It's fine,” she said, suddenly tired. She was annoyed, but it wasn't quite worth the fight. And she knew the sight of her husband struggling to his feet, knuckles white against her shoulder, teeth ground together, for something so – so technically unimportant would only darken her mood. She smoothed out her face and her dress, made a space beside Anakin in front of the weeds and sat, the setting suns warming her back. “I'm sure they're a lost cause by now anyway. Let the eopie have them – that can be his dinner.”

“Don't let Ahsoka hear you,” he said, smirking. “She loves that eopie more than its own mother probably did.”

“Lucky for it,” she said. “Or him, I suppose. At least Madame is a gentle soul. That eopie's got a problem with authority.”

“Just like his owners.”

“Well,” Padmé said, tone light, though she couldn't help but frown slightly, “at least when that authority is a megalomaniacal evil.”

Anakin huffed a laugh, hands returning to the seemingly never-ending task of weeding their garden. Padmé was subtly impressed – she herself couldn't tell the difference between what was a weed and what wasn't. It all looked tough, dry and unpalatable to her eye. “At least,” he said. Then: “Are you alright?”

She raised an eyebrow, watched a flush of red make its way across his cheeks.

“I know, I know,” he said, turning back to his weeds for a moment, curls shifting to cover his face. “Stupid question. You just seem – unhappy. Not that – not that you shouldn't be – I mean -” He looked back to meet her eyes again, helplessly. “You know what I mean.”

She couldn't help but chuckle, fondness momentarily replacing the ache of fear and worry that lived in her chest.

“I'm not – unhappy,” she said, watching his face, the way the sun lit his hair from behind. “I'm just worried, that's all. And I feel -”

She paused, searching for the right words. She'd kept things close to her chest, lately, their circumstances dredging up all kinds of things she wasn't sure she could articulate even if she wanted to. But -

“I feel conflicted. Worrying about our sheets getting eaten, about the sand in our home, the tears in our clothes, while the galaxy is under siege. When my friends and family could be in mortal danger. I'm not used to – to living like this, but every time I think to complain about it, it feels – _wrong_.” She pressed her lips together, grimacing. “I want to be out there, fighting. Or at least in the Senate, where I could actually do some good. I don't have the Force, like you do. I can't break rocks, or help you build your cavern. And I know its terrible, but I've never done a day of housework in my life, Ani. I can barely keep our hut in order. I'm good with a blaster and I'm good with a speech, but those things -” She sighed, rested her head against the side of his arm, throat closing. “They're useless here. _I'm_ useless here.”

For a moment Anakin didn't say anything, just breathed against her quietly, the chirp of the desert bugs that awoke in the evening and the distant sound of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, making their way back from the vaporator filling the easy silence.

“That's not true,” he said, firmly, with his unmistakeable brand of unshakeable certainty. The same kind, she thought with a smile, that brought Obi-Wan's eyelid to twitching. “You've saved us in a thousand different ways, before we got here and after. The Force -” he paused, brow crinkling in thought. “The Force is an ally, but it can also be a burden. Sometimes it clouds things, instead of making them clearer. But you – you always know exactly what to do.” He paused. “ You always see things as they are.” The last part was said with some hesitation, Anakin's face darkening ever so slightly.

“When I want to,” she amended for him, knowing he wouldn't be able to admit it himself. Admit that he was her only blind spot.

He shrugged, face lightening with a force of will. “It's still more than I can say for the rest of us. You're a part of this, Padmé – _a valued part_. Without you, I -”

“I know,” she said warmly. “I know, Ani.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder, looked up at him with a smile. “Thanks.”

He smiled back, suns lighting him from behind, the shadows receding from his face. From hers too, she thought. Their happinesses were small here, but precious. Something to be cherished, not wasted.

“You'll get your chance,” he said softly, voice a hushed, vehement promise as the suns dipped below the rock formations behind them. “Soon, we will _all_ get our chance.”

She didn't know what to say to that, the certainty bringing the hairs on the back of her neck upright.

“I hope you're right,” she whispered after a moment. “I do. But, in the meantime,” she said, spotting the other half of their ramshackle family making their way back to their ramshackle hut, “you're going to show me how to make something palatable out of those vaporator mushrooms.”

“Vaporator mushrooms are a delicacy,” Anakin insisted as he struggled to his feet, knuckles white against her elbow.

“That remains to be seen,” Obi-Wan remarked, finally reaching them, Ahsoka at his heel. The mushrooms in question were gathered in the folds of his poncho. “Though I suppose they must be better than desert tundra.”

“ _Anything_ is better than desert tundra,” Ahsoka chimed in, grinning at the offended look she got in return.

“You people have no taste,” Anakin declared, ducking carefully under the door to their home, Ahsoka behind him.

“This coming from the man who I once witnessed eating live bugs right out of the ground,” Obi-Wan stage whispered to her as Padmé followed them inside. She muffled a laugh with difficulty, though she sobered quickly. Griping about the food – though the term 'food' was, she felt, used very loosely when it came to native Tatooine cuisine – was a nightly occurrence, as was griping about everything else. Finding humour in the bleak, the dark – it was the only way they could live without going mad.

It was also just another reminder how far the home under her feet was from the home in her dreams.

But the rest of the night passed in much the same way as all the others of the past weeks had – unless it was months, now? It was hard to keep track, under the haze of sand and blistering sunlight – and they retired soon after dinner, hut as clean as it would ever be, the day's work as done as it would get.

Outside, the wind howled.

 

 

*

 

 

“We need to go to Mos Espa,” Anakin announced in the morning, brow creased in what she assumed was half-trepidation, half-pain. A bad day, she thought, though she knew any comment in that vein would be vehemently denied, except in the most extreme circumstances. That, combined with the tension wrought by the crowdedness of Mos Espa, the potential for discovery, the echoes of his childhood, would only sour his mood, Padmé knew. “There's parts, tools we're gonna need to stabilize the cavern excavation that the Oasis won't have. I know Senator Organa said he'd send things with the rebels that are coming, but I'm not sure this can wait. The structural integrity down there is,” he made a face, “questionable, at the moment.”

“If it's ready to go before they arrive, all the better,” Padmé said, knowing the uncertainty was the main issue here. Bail had been hesitant to name an arrival date, wary of the remote possibility of eavesdropping, unsure of exactly how and when he would be able to pull of the delivery. She understood, of course, but the constant waiting was only an added burden to their tension-filled lives.

In agreement, the four of them clambered aboard the speeder after a breakfast of dried bantha (it was _always_ dried bantha), the morning suns already bringing sweat to Padme's brow, fabric wrapped around their faces to keep off the sand and the sun. It was a long journey to Mos Espa, compared to the Oasis, though the way Anakin drove probably shaved off quite a bit of time, to Obi-Wan's probable chagrin. He spent the entire ride with his hands white-knuckled around the safety bars, cheeks bloodless.

“Huh,” Ahsoka remarked when they finally arrived around mid-morning, parked surreptitiously behind a neighbourhood of seemingly abandoned homes. “It's actually _worse_ than I remembered.”

“That's Mos Espa for you,” Anakin muttered in reply, jaw tense. “Remember, everyone, hoods up. No real names. The main market is this way.” He took off unsteadily down a beaten, sandy path, leading them through the weathered synthstone domes and rusted shacks.

“Come on, Junior,” Padmé said, hood up, hand on Ahsoka's back. They ducked sideways into a narrow alley to follow him, rounded shadows protecting them from the suns. “Something tells me we'd better keep up.”

“No kidding,” Ahsoka breathed as they broke free of the back alleyways to the open square of Mos Espa's biggest market. She stepped back into Padme's comforting grasp on instinct, hand reaching to hold the hood of her poncho down as their vision filled with a sea of shiny white boots, gleaming helmets in the mid-morning sunlight. Padme's blood ran cold.

“Oh, no,” she said, breath catching in her throat. “This -”

“- is not good,” Obi-Wan finished grimly, a tall shadow at her side. Anakin loomed in front of them, frozen.

“Are those - ” Ahsoka choked out, alarmingly still in her grasp, “ - are those clone troopers?”

They looked sort of like them from a distance, but Padmé could make out none of the distinctive, individualistic markings that usually graced the helmets of the clones she'd seen in action. Their armour was stark white, clean of personal influence. Of any individuality.

She drew Ahsoka in closer, heart aching.

“The Empire has made it to the Outer Rim,” Obi-Wan remarked darkly, folding in on himself the slightest bit. They hadn't attracted any attention that Padmé could tell, but it was hard not to feel – watched, despite the relative impossibility. They had entered the city on little travelled back roads, narrow side-streets, stood now huddled together in the dark, shadowed remnants of the alleyway, nondescript, faces carefully concealed.

“He knows,” Anakin said, voice hollow and deadly, unshakeably certain. Padmé shivered, suddenly chilled under her layers of cloth.

“He can't possibly,” Obi-Wan reassured him, moving forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “And you said it yourself not too long ago that he would wait for us to come to him. This is not meant for us, Anakin. He's simply,” his voice became bitter, sharp, “ _building_.”

“But why build out here? Literally or metaphorically?” Ahsoka asked, voice quieter than normal. The four of them were focused now on the central square of the market, where a scuffle was emerging, the eerily familiar troopers converging on a few lone figures. “The Arkanis system doesn't have much going for it. No offence, Skyguy – I mean,” her mouth twisted, “ _Dad_. What could the Outer Rim possibly have to offer an emerging empire?”

“Resources,” Anakin muttered, more to himself than anything, as the scene before them continued to unfold. “Illegal goods. _Slaves_.” He paused, turning back towards them, brows drawn together in belated, sickened realization. “And... Geonosian Industries.” His eyes met Obi-Wan's and something seemed to pass between them, some horrified, shared apprehension. “You don't think -”

“I wouldn't be at all surprised. If we assume that the Separatist Council dissolved shortly after our departure -”

(“If by dissolved you mean was probably horrifically dismembered and then thrown into _lava_ ,” Ahsoka muttered under her breath)

“ - then Geonosian Industries would have fallen directly under his thumb, if it wasn't already before,” Anakin finished, face paling.

“What's Geonosian Industries got to do with anything?” Padmé interrupted, frowning. “I suppose if they were providing weapons to the Confederacy, then they're probably supplying them to the Palpatine's Empire now, but -”

“But,” Obi-Wan said grimly, “we know for a fact that the Confederacy threw both considerable effort and credits into developing super-weapons for the Separatists, designed and carried out through Geonosian Industries. We dispatched some of their early prototypes ourselves.”

“Prototypes for super-weapons that have now likely fallen into the hands of ultimate evil,” Padmé said, stomach churning. _If they weren't already in his hands before_. “What sort of super-weapons?” she asked, a part of her not wanting to know, fingertips white against Ahsoka's shoulder.

“Planet killers,” Ahsoka whispered, face pale under the shadows. “Or at least – that's what some of the rumours said.”

“I think,” Anakin said, eyes distant, voice hollow and sickened, burdened with a knowledge of the future that he was so often reluctant to share, “that the rumours were true.”

Padmé closed her eyes, briefly, as a silence, shocked and tense, filled the air around them. _We don't stand a chance_ , she thought, feeling light and empty, the air feeling thin despite the thickness of the tension. _Not against something like that. Not against a certainty like that._

“That's how he plans to enforce his will, then,” she said after a moment, words bitter in her throat. “Destroying an entire planet – that's the ultimate display of power. Something no one will ever forget.”

“Only if he gets the chance to build it,” Obi-Wan said, voice sharp, forceful. Full of something that was both spite and hope in the same breath. “When we get back, we'll contact Bail. If he hasn't already come to the same conclusion, then he'll find this information valuable. We must speed up our offence.”

Anakin tugged his hood further down his face, turned back to face the open square. “Then we'd better get what we need,” he said grimly. “Stay looking down – don't draw their attention.”

But the advice was hardly needed, as they stepped from shadow into the stark openness of day. The troopers' attention was still being drawn by the disturbance happening at the centre of the market, the source of the conflict becoming more obvious as they dared to step closer. It was a family of humans. Not slaves but farmers, most likely, their clothes worn but not ragged, their bodies small and weathered by the sun and sand. And in the middle of it all, clutched in the arms of the weeping mother as the troopers loomed menacingly above – a child.

A girl, Padmé thought. Younger than Pooja.

“What's going on?” she asked quietly, voice almost lost in the surrounding cacophony. Most market businesses stalled for nothing less than planet-shaking explosions, at least in her experience. “What are they doing?”

Ahsoka, her hearing the most acute of all of them and amplified by the Force, frowned as the struggle continued, though the view was becoming increasingly blocked by both curious spectators and more of the awful, pristine-looking troopers.

“I don't understand,” she said, voice also pitched low, almost to a whisper. “I – they're talking about midichlorians. That child is -”

“- is a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Testing used to be routine but not required, especially this far out from the Core. I imagine that now there's very little choice in the matter.”

“This just gets worse and worse,” Anakin muttered, shoulders hunched underneath his weathered poncho. “What does Palpatine want with Force-sensitive children, anyway? Is going to – is he going to -” He swallowed, unable to finish the thought, hand straying unconsciously to where his lightsaber usually hung, fingers twitching when they met empty air.

“We thought his goal was the annihilation of the Jedi,” Obi-Wan mused darkly. “But I wonder -”

His voice fell silent as the sea of white parted, markedly sudden. A small, black-hooded figure strode forward seemingly from nowhere, gait light and feminine, lightsaber swinging from a belt at their hip. The figure knelt before the girl, what bit of face Padmé could see flashing olive in the suns. Padmé frowned, saw Ahsoka tense where she stood in front of her.

“Shields, _now_ ,” Obi-Wan ordered, voice as sharp as she'd ever heard it. Padmé could only assume that the other two complied, registering only that the hairs on the back of her neck were now standing on end. “Ahsoka -”

“ _No_ ,” she was saying, even as Anakin moved to clamp a hand around her wrist, twisting against his grip. “ _No, she would never_ -”

“Quiet down, Junior,” Anakin said for the benefit of anybody listening, face pained, bringing her in closer. Padmé took a step in too, confused, blocking them from prying eyes with her body. “I know,” Anakin whispered, “ _I know_ , Snips, but you can't do anything about it right now, and you _can't_ let her know we're here.” He glanced up at Obi-Wan, stricken.

“As I said,” the older man said, eyes infinitely sad. “There's more than one way to go about annihilating.”

“I don't understand,” Padmé said as they made their way further from the crowd, Ahsoka marched along in Anakin's grasp, firmly but not unkindly. Her heart sank with a cold kind of discomfort as she watched the black-robed figure disappear with the child, the small sea of white closing in behind her. The mother was left in the centre of the square, dry, heaving sobs melting into the bustle of the crowd as they stepped around her, too indifferent, or perhaps too afraid to offer comfort. “I thought the Chancellor – that the Emperor destroyed all of the Jedi. Or most of them, anyway. That person had a lightsaber.”

“That person,” and Obi-Wan's voice was too quiet to be as coldly removed as he would have liked, she thought, “was the Jedi Padawan we once knew as Barriss Offee.”

“She would never,” Ahsoka insisted hoarsely, face bleached of colour, wrist still encircled by Anakin's hand as they marched towards the nearest tool stall. “I know Barriss. She's not capable of – of _that_ ,” she spat.

“It could be mind control,” Anakin suggested, finally letting go of Ahsoka's arm, hand falling to pat her shoulder briefly. “Or – or some kind of dark side conditioning.”

“We won't know until our reinforcements arrive,” Obi-Wan said. “We are clearly sorely lacking in information.”

“This is moving too fast,” Anakin muttered, brow creasing. He squinted ahead, lead them deeper into the sprawl of never-ending stalls. “He's changing the game plan.”

“He knows you've seen some of it,” Padmé said, stepping quickly on her shorter legs so she could walk beside him. “He must be trying to catch you off guard, alter the timelines of events to throw you off.”

“Well, it's _working_ ,” he growled as they finally reached a corner stall, shadowed and decidedly unsavoury-looking. Tools and various other odds and ends, none of them Tatooine-built, were laid out end-to-end on the counter in front of them. Her husband, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka looming behind in the shadows thrown by neighbouring tent-stalls, picked one up with his flesh hand, handling it with practiced ease.

“How much for the spanner?” he asked quietly, eyes glued downwards.

“Kriffing hells,” the voice behind the counter said. Anakin's head shot up in front of her, whole body tensing. The man behind the counter, tall and weathered, eyes dark, looked on in quiet awe. “I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. It is you, isn't it, Ani,” he said, voice hushed. “You came back.”

Anakin, seeming to shake himself free of his momentary shock, nodded and raised a finger to his lips, suspiciously glassy eyes darting to the ever-looming white troopers stationed behind them. The man lowered his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

“Kitster,” he said, voice hoarse. “You're still alive.”

“Alive,” the man named Kitster said, teeth glinting white, “and free.” He paused, brows drawing together. “But what are you doing here? Your face is plastered all across the Republ- the ' _Empire'_ now, you know. Not out here, but as you get closer to the Core. They say you're a murderer. A traitor to the Emperor and to the Jedi.” His eyes flicked to Padmé, to Ahsoka and Obi-Wan behind her. “Them, too.”

“'Traitor' is a matter of perspective,” Padmé said, wincing internally at the smooth Senator-tone that spilled from her lips. It was habit.

Well-received habit, though. Kitster's face broke out into a grin.

“That's what I like to hear,” he said. “Tell me you're not visiting Tatooine for the sake of your health.”

Anakin sputtered a hastily muffled laugh, grinning tiredly. “Not on your life,” he said. “Let's just say that this is the last place anyone would expect us to go.”

“Is that right,” came the reply, carefully considered. “You're hiding?”

“Waiting,” came the reply. “Waiting for the right moment. Don't know if you noticed, koochoo, but the galaxy is in a bit of a crisis. We're trying to put it right.”

“Huh,” Kitster said. “Well, then I suppose there's no harm in admitting it, one outlaw to another. Everything you see here,” he gestured grandiosely to his impressive supply of wares, “was smuggled onto Tatooine by yours truly.” He leaned in, eyes glinting. “But it's not just for me. I smuggle escaped slaves out, I smuggle goods in. Right. Under. Their. Noses. Been doing it ever since I first passed my pilot exams.”

“That's amazing,” Ahsoka said, stepping closer, face still drawn.

“I think you mean _crazy_ ,” Anakin corrected, but he was smiling.

“Amazing, crazy, take your pick,” Kitster said, smiling back. “It's at your service. By which I mean, I'm at your service.”

Silence.

“I can't ask you to do that,” Anakin was saying, Padmé leaning in to clasp his arm, something like hope burning under her heart. “It's too dangerous.”

“When we were kids, nothing was too dangerous,” Kitster countered, still leaning over his wares. His eyes were warm, sincere. “I mean it. You're not asking, anyway, I'm offering. What you did for me, before you left – it changed my life. For the better. Let me help you in return. Kick a little slaver butt as a bonus.”

Anakin frowned, hand coming up to brush Padme's own where it rested on his other arm. “I -”

“The people here remember you, Ani,” Kitster said, voice becoming soft, more insistent. “They remember who you were. What you are. They don't care what the emperor says, they don't care what the galaxy says. They care about what you say. And I am telling you right now that they would follow you to the ends of the galaxy at the drop of a hat.”

Anakin's arm slackened under her grasp, breaths shallow. Too much, too big, too heavy. And Padmé knew, then, that there were some things he would never be able to say out loud, some truths about himself that he would never be able to accept.

Unless she accepted them for him. She surged forward, face calm and grave.

“We don't know when,” she said, “and we don't know how. Right now we're the only ones here, but the resistance movement is spread far across the galaxy. It has been, ever since that day Coruscant first fell. Reinforcements are coming here soon. Other Jedi.” She paused, swallowed. “The few that are left. We have connections in the Senate, but our communications are limited. We're cut off from news. But if you're offering assistance -”

She glanced back to Obi-Wan, face shadowed by the hood of his cloak, at Ahsoka, blue eyes wide. Slowly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“ - _we'll take it_.”

A sly, slow grin spread across the other man's face. “I'll start spreading the word. We'll be ready when you call,” he promised more solemnly, eyeing the troopers stationed behind them, passing her a comm frequency hastily scribbled on a piece of wrinkled flimsi. “And in the meantime, what you need from here is yours. On the house.” He tipped an imaginary hat, retreating back into the shadows of the stall's backroom.

“I -” her husband said, mouth working silently.

The suns were beating down right on top of their heads, now, the slightest chill of morning long past. Market-goers flooded past them, the hum of conversation, the sharp consonants of hastily-spoken Huttese filling the air. Padmé sighed, felt her feet slip ever closer to the edge of some unknowable precipice.

_You'll get your chance_.

Her certainty of that fact wavered one way or the other depending on the moment, but, the day's horrors aside, she couldn't help but feel the spring of something that felt an awful lot like purpose fill her chest, spread out from her heart and through her veins.

“ _Take the spanner_ , Anakin,” she suggested, back straightening, a determined glare settling in comfortably across her face, “and let's get back to work.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys!! it's been so long since an update I am so sorry??? I have no excuse except the usual (that life is a jerk and also hella, hella busy) but please do accept my sincere apology with the gift of a Padme POV. It's been a while and I thought she of all people deserved one - the other three all (er, sort of) got their internal issues worked out over a chapter or so, so now it's Padme's turn to Angst in the desert a bit.
> 
> keep in mind that there has been a bit of a jump forward in time here - I didn't want to get totally stuck on poncho!squad's endless domestic desert life (even though I do have a soft spot for it), so had to scooch things forward a bit. hopefully that comes across decently lol
> 
> Please let me know what you think! (and also feel free to point out any errors my late-night brain might have missed)
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for sticking with this story (especially over the barren weeks it was left to collect dust)! If life goes according to plan (aha. ha. famous last words, me) there should be another update coming your way in a week or so. 
> 
> \- W


	19. Chapter 19

 

Anakin stepped back from the mouth of their underground base, spanner clenched in one hand, Ahsoka at his side as they surveyed their handiwork.

“It's not very pretty,” she remarked, poking him across their bond to let him know she was teasing. A thrum of pleased exhaustion tempered the nudge, and a familiar thrill. He recognized it, had felt it often when the two of them were finished fixing something, building something.

They'd never built anything like this before.

“It's an underground cavern that we excavated with the _Force_ , Ahsoka,” he replied dryly, taking in the sharp, jagged outcrops that lined the walls, the unfortunately low ceiling, the alcoves they had carved out and sanded down into separate rooms. The lights they had fastened crudely into the walls filled the space with a warm glow that was, oddly, almost inviting. It wasn't fancy or elegant or grand – but it was sturdy, and that was where it counted. “It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to not fall on our heads.”

Ahsoka grinned.

“It's perfect,” she said. He smiled down at her, feeling something in his stomach twist. Not unpleasantly, exactly. It was just –

“I wish I had your enthusiasm, Snips,” he said, clasping her on a bony shoulder.

She looked up at him, forehead creasing.

“Skyguy,” she said. Paused, eyes softening as realization dawned in them. “Anakin – ”

But the roll and shake of the ground underneath and above them interrupted her. The unmistakeable groan and rumble of a shuttle. Of a shuttle _landing_.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, a hand automatically reaching for the saber that was no longer at his belt, but he didn't need it, the Force warm and yellow and welcoming –

“They're here!”And Ahsoka was off like a blaster bolt, yanking him along with her, a corner of his tunic snagged in her fist. He squinted as they exited the vaporator pit, the transition from its dimly lit innards to the brightness of day jarring, and he was almost grateful for Ahsoka's overt enthusiasm as she all but dragged him up the hill to their hut, the rumbling increasing as they got closer. They rounded the corner just as the noise stopped, the landed shuttle standing out starkly against the backdrop of the desert and their home, so dusty and worn it practically blended in to its surroundings. Obi-Wan and Padmé were waiting, Padmé with one hand on Madame to keep her from trampling away from the noise and blindly into whatever was unfortunate enough to be caught in her path.

His master's face, weathered by the sun, beard more untamed than he'd ever let it get before, was calm and serene, but the Force was lit by restrained and carefully considered hope. Padmé's lips were soft and beautiful, her gaze made of steel and determination.

“That's an Alderaanian shuttle,” Anakin said as he and Ahsoka ground to a stumbling halt beside them, recognizing the design and the unique thrum of its engine as it powered down. “An older model.”

“Bail really came through for us,” Padmé said, smiling as the landing ramp was engaged. It shrieked open, the age of the ship making itself apparent, and the four of them waited with bated breath, the Force pulled tight, quavering and light, as the ship's occupants slowly made their way down the ramp.

There were Jedi – not many, but more than he'd expected. He could feel them in the Force, their presences ragged and worn and ripped, like pieces of torn cloth in the wind. But they were there, they were alive, and the Force sang with them, their hooded robes a familiar sight he didn't realize he'd missed. Some he didn't recognize – _many_ he didn't recognize – but there was a small gaggle of younglings from the Temple being corralled down the ramp by Depa Billaba's padawan, a frowning, dark-haired adolescent, Master Billaba herself following behind. A hand grasped her apprentice's shoulder comfortingly.

Anakin closed his eyes briefly, quietly thankful.

Behind them, though, flanking Master Yoda as he hobbled carefully down the ramp, armorless and battered, heads oddly scarred –

“Rex!” Ahsoka shouted joyfully, rushing towards the tall but stooped figures of Rex and Cody without the slightest bit of hesitance or dignity. Anakin didn't bother to stop her, something warm filling in the spaces in his chest, a smile making its way across his face. There were a couple other clones behind them, heads also scarred, though the shadows of the ship obscured their faces. Fives, he thought with a rush of fondness, recognizing the dramatically gesticulating hands, and Jesse behind him. Others, too, though not from the 501st that he could recognize.

“Master Yoda will be so impressed at how well we've managed to maintain a sense of Jedi decorum,” Obi-Wan remarked dryly as Ahsoka all but tackled the two clones, the Force flowing unrestrained and hopeful. Anakin shrugged, raising an eyebrow at his old master, before snaking an arm around Padmé's waist. He paused, considered for a moment, before snaking the other one around Obi-Wan's with a cheekily delivered grin. “Master Yoda,” he said, pulling the two of them in close to him as they approached the disembarking crowd, “will just have to learn to live with it.”

“At his age, you might be asking too much,” Obi-Wan muttered back, but his eyes were light.

“My ears,” the grand master said as they reached him and the clones. “Burning, they are.”

“Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said, voice admirably steady. Anakin detached himself from his wife and Obi-Wan and the two of them bowed respectfully. “It's a relief to see you.”

“Dark times, these are,” he said, stepping closer. His face was set gravely. “Glad, I am, that you survived. Few our numbers are.”

“More than we might have been, Master,” Anakin said. Phantom smoke filled the back of his throat.

“Hmm,” Yoda replied. “Saw the future, you did. Yes. Averted it, did you?”

Anakin swallowed, felt Padmé's hand press comfortingly at his elbow.

 _More than you know, Master_.

“We've changed it,” he said quietly, though the uncertainty pressed at his throat. “We have a chance.”

He waited for a moment, wondering if he was going to be reprimanded. Wondered if Yoda blamed him for not coming to them earlier. If he would bring up his violence against the Tuskens, his arms around Padmé's waist. If he could sense the potential in him, the future that might have been.

“A chance,” was all he said, face unreadable. “A chance we have. But first, much work we have to do.”

“Of course, Master,” Obi-Wan said. And Anakin found the rest of the day slipping away in a haze, Master Yoda ushered off to shade inside their hut, the younglings sent to meditate in the garden, the surviving Jedi Masters and clone troopers convening to unload supplies into the cavern, their solitary existence all of a sudden positively crawling with life. It was overwhelming. It was wonderful.

Their little world had stalled, Anakin realized with an almost guilty jolt, in the weeks it had taken for the real rebellion to arrive. They'd grown too used to it. Too safe. This arrival felt more like an incursion, and it shouldn't have – he was grateful. Grateful that they were here, that they were alive, that they had a plan. Grateful that the days of the Empire were numbered.

It was just –

“I'm so sorry, sir,” Rex told him quietly as they hauled a crate of Alderaanian weapons down the narrow pathway to the vaporator, the scar that wound its way around the side of his head catching the midday light in odd ways. “For everything. We were – _programmed_ from the start – ”

He'd fought against it, Anakin had learned. Order 66, the order to destroy the Jedi. Tried to tear the chip out of his head himself rather than murder innocents. That kind of willpower – that kind of _loyalty_ –

“Rex,” he said. Firmly but not sharply; there was too much sharpness in the galaxy. “I know a little something about – about people using you for their own purposes. Trust me. What happened to you wasn't your fault.”

Rex nodded, though it would take him a while to believe it, Anakin knew. It would take a while for all of them to believe it. To wake up and see their hands as their own. Their lives as their own.

And the war wasn't over yet.

They discussed strategy in the afternoon, over ration bars eaten hunkered over schematics smuggled out of Coruscant ( _Imperial Centre_ now, he'd been informed bitterly), the Force growing tight with the tension. The warmth of other beings in the Force, that initial, wonderful shock, had worn off slightly since. There wasn't a single one of them that hadn't seen something horrific, that wasn't scarred in some way. Even the younglings. No amount of Jedi doctrine could completely mask that trauma.

They broke up not long into the afternoon, dispersing into separate groups. The new arrivals – _the rebels_ , Anakin thought, _and that includes you, koochoo_ – were tired from their journey, burnt out from all they had endured.

“The Force is clouded,” Obi-Wan said to him quietly from the mouth of the cavern, watching them settle in. “It makes it hard to say what's in store for us.”

“Victory, with any luck,” Anakin shot back, though it was more rote reply than actual thought. In actuality, his stomach felt twisted in knots. His chest ached hollowly with the absence of the previous days' hope, feeling dull betrayal at his mind's apparent about-face, though he did his best to keep his despair from leaking too audibly into the Force.

It had been easier to hope then, he thought tiredly, without the stark reality of their situation staring them all in the face. Without the imminent, inevitably disastrous confrontation to sully the outlook. He'd felt it creeping up for days now. Did that make him a coward?

It was just that whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was either the reality they'd averted, the galaxy crushed under Palpatine's heel and the blood of millions coating his own blackened fingertips, or the future they seemed to be hurtling inevitably towards, clouded and dark and impossible to predict. The Force tipped precariously one way or the other between hope and despair. Between a future he could live with and one that he could not. _Would not_.

“One hopes,” Obi-Wan replied. A hand reached up to brush the back of Anakin's neck, the fingers warm and slightly calloused. Comforting. _Don't worry_ , Obi-Wan didn't say. He didn't have to. “We'll discuss more in the coming days. Perhaps you ought to contact Mister Banai. I've a feeling we'll have need of his resources soon.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said hesitantly, the mention of Kitster bringing another nagging question to the forefront of his mind. “When we – when we finally make our move against the Empire. Will we free the slaves here first?”

Obi-Wan looked at him for what felt like a very long time.

“Our plans have a long way to come, Anakin,” he said carefully, face remaining neutral even as Anakin felt his heart sink. “It's not for me to say with any certainty. The other masters will have input into the final plan as well. But I think between us and the Senator we can convince them.” The sandy, desert ghost of a smile. “A Tatooinian uprising would hardly be complete without it.”

“No,” Anakin said, thinking of dragons and tricksters and slaves, outwitting their masters under the heat of swirling sand and suns. Felt that twist that was half-hope, half-terror, an imminent shadow overtop of him. “It wouldn't.”

 

* * *

 

He begged off dinner that night, made it clear that he'd be back, swallowed half of a pain suppressor dry and took off into the desert, a stick of dried bantha in hand, canteen and lightsaber strapped to his belt. He'd commed Kitster earlier, on the frequency he'd provided, updated him on their situation.

And received some information in return.

It wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, he thought grimly, making his way painstakingly through the Jundland Wastes, towing their dilapidated speeder along with the Force, bones aching despite the suppressor. If he made it through their attack on the Empire, he wasn't sure he'd ever be one for long-distance walks again. But this was – this was worth it. He should have done it sooner.

Would have done it sooner. It was just –

Well. She would have understood.

It was a long way to the Lars homestead, and the Jundland Wastes had to be walked most of the way, at least in this direction. The rocky outcrops made navigating it on the speeder alone treacherous, even for a driver as skilled as he was. By the time he made it to the outskirts of the Wastes ( _past the remains of the camp he'd once razed to the ground, and the Force was still thick and dark and cold there, slippery and beckoning as he'd passed through, the phantom hum of lightsaber thrumming in his ears, the easy, satisfying way it had cut through flesh and bone_ – ), the suns were dipping low in the sky, half hidden by the jagged, dusty skyline. But he rode the speeder the rest of the way, drove quickly and recklessly, trying to convince himself that he wasn't trying to escape the pull of the ruins he'd left behind. He relished the feeling of wind in his hair, the rush of adrenaline, though it faded as he approached the gravesite. He dismounted as the suns dipped lazily below the horizon. An unobtrusive wind drifted across the dunes, atypical for this time of year.

“Hi, Mom,” he said quietly, kneeling at the foot of the grave, feeling the evening air still around him, the Force settling tumultuously about his shoulders. He stayed like that for a while, for too long, knees cramping, emotions stewing, fingers tracing the aurebesh carved onto the grave marker. The back of his mouth felt dry and cottony. Tired shame rose in his cheeks. He'd come all the way here after so many years, and now he couldn't even think of what to say.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered finally, the words feeling simultaneously inadequate and all that he could say. He wanted – wanted to tell her about Padmé, about Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, about the family that he'd made. Wanted to tell her about the rebellion. About the future he'd seen, about their desert uprising in the making.

His fingers were shaking, the words drying up in his throat. He closed his stinging eyes, mouth twisting. If he told her all of it at once, it would be like admitting that he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance again.

“Too old, I am, to still be traipsing after wayward younglings,” a weathered voice came from behind him. Anakin straightened, startled. The voice continued. “Through barren deserts, especially, hmm.”

“Master Yoda,” Anakin said, frowning. He twisted around, sand crunching at his knees. The wizened Jedi stood hunched over behind him, gimer stick clenched in one hand, face unreadable. “How did you – ?”

“Faster than I look, I am,” he said, eyes twinkling with the barest hint of humour. Like always, Anakin wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. Master Yoda certainly had a sense of humour, but in Anakin's experience it was only very rarely directed at him. And never for long. True to form, the twinkle faded. “A large risk you are taking, coming here.”

Anakin's gaze turned back to the grave. “The Larses are in Mos Eisley until tomorrow,” he said, fighting to keep the indignation from his voice and probably failing. “They won't know I've been here.”

“Hmm,” came the reply. There was silence for a moment. Grains of sand drifted across the grave marker, the wind blowing hot and dry and slow. “And come here, why have you?”

_Because I think I might be about to die. Because we all might be about to die. Because I couldn't save her and I might not be able to save them._

_Because I think I would do horrible things still, to keep that from happening._

“To pay my respects,” he said, swallowing. He took a stilted, shaky breath. “I haven't – I haven't been here in a very long time.”

Master Yoda stepped closer, leaning heavily on his stick. He considered the gravestone, head tilted. Anakin, frustratingly, could still get no reading of his intent, from his face or the Force.

“Kind, was your mother?” he asked, unexpectedly.

“Yes,” Anakin answered instantly, feeling that familiar swell of outrage, that sweeping red fury at the injustice of her death. “She didn't deserve to die.” He swallowed back any other words he might have said, felt the pressure behind his eyes build as sand particles began to shift, not moved by any gust of wind. Fists clenched at his sides. He hadn't learned anything. He couldn't stop it, even now – hold back that tide of terrified madness crawling up his lungs, the constant realization that everything he loved could and likely would be torn from his grasp. That one day the stars already visible in the haze of early evening would burn up and die. He would be swallowed by it.

“I'm sorry,” he forced out through his throat, the words scraping their way out of his mouth. His eyes were wet. Shame rose in his cheeks with the knowledge that the ancient Jedi Master beside him could likely feel everything that he was feeling.

With a tired sigh, Master Yoda lowered himself onto the sandy ground, painfully. Anakin's own bones ached in sympathy as his face twisted in confusion. He waited for a moment, for a reprimand that never came.

“Apologize, do not,” Yoda said finally, and in that moment he seemed not impossibly powerful, impossibly omniscient. Just impossibly old. Impossibly sad. His muddy eyes met Anakin's own. “Anger, you feel. Fear. Act on it, will you?”

“I don't want to,” Anakin said. He paused, gut twisting. “Or at least – I wish I didn't want to.”

“Hmm,” Yoda huffed, though it was not necessarily a sound of reproval. “A greater difference than you think, that makes.” His gaze turned contemplative. “Tell you to let go, I should. Let go of all you fear to lose. Your anger. Your fear. Your attachments. The way of the Jedi, that is.” He paused. The sky had darkened while they spoke, the murky indigo of dusk swept away by Tatooine's night. The two of them were nothing more than hunched silhouettes against the backdrop of stars and the solemn gravesite.

“Gone, the Jedi are,” Yoda said. The pang of loss through the Force was unlike Obi-Wan's muffled blue grief, Ahsoka's sharp and compassionate sorrow, his own howling storm kept barely at bay; it was muted and calm and unrelenting. Deep, like a lake. “A great teacher, loss is.”

“I'm sorry, Master,” Anakin said quietly.

“Young Skywalker,” Yoda said, voice carrying softly in the night air, weighed down by things he couldn't or wouldn't say. There was a pause. A moment where the air was only still. “Sorry, _I_ am.”

Anakin stared at him, his small and wizened image murky in the dark.

“Know your mother, I did not,” the grand master continued. “But like her, you are, I think. Like her, you should continue to be.” He ignored Anakin's creeping eyebrows, the odd mix of gratefulness and incredulity he was sure to be picking up through the Force. His expression grew serious. “Compassion, the Sith have not. Love, they have not.” A pause, weighted, momentous. Master Yoda spoke his next words slowly, like he couldn't quite believe they were coming out of his mouth. “A weakness – ”

Anakin felt the Force twinge, felt it stir deep in his chest. Change. Like the rising of suns.

“ – perhaps they are not.”

“Master,” Anakin began, trailing off. “I don't – ”

“Come, Skywalker,” he said, hobbling slowly towards the speeder. “Always there, the dead will be. Closer than you think, they are.”

“But, Master – ”

Yoda turned to pierce him with a look as he scrambled onto the back of the speeder. “Back to your farm, take me, Skywalker. Worried, your family is.”

“Jedi don't have families,” Anakin said. “And I told them I'd be back.”

“Young Skywalker,” Master Yoda said in a tone that was familiar and long-suffering. “Bring balance to the Force you might. Saviour of the galaxy you might be.” He felt a prod through the Force, the mental equivalent of the tap of a gimer stick, expertly delivered to the ankle of a daydreaming youngling. “A terrible Jedi, you are and have always been.”

 _Not for lack of trying_ , Anakin thought briefly, indignantly, though that was probably proof enough of Yoda's claim. He sighed, clambered onto the front of the speeder. “I guess you're right, Master,” he said, listening to the speeder's engine roll over a couple of times suspiciously before igniting. He veered them back towards the Wastes, his mother's grave and the Lars homestead growing smaller behind them. He kept his eyes firmly forward.

 

 

Padmé was waiting when the two of them returned, a small dark shadow at the edge of their property.

“Ani,” she said, forehead pinched as he hopped down from the speeder with a grunt. Master Yoda jumped down behind him, once again inscrutable. He'd been quiet on the journey home, a calm anchor in the turbulent Force.

He'd said nothing even as they'd passed the remains of the Tusken camp, though something about his presence in the Force, the strength of it or perhaps just its conviction, made the slippery darkness less appealing, kept it from clinging to him like wet clothes as they made their way through it. Anakin was grateful, though he hadn't said as much. The shock of their discussion at his mother's grave had given him too much to think about.

“Master Yoda,” she said in surprise, drawing back slightly from where she'd moved in to embrace Anakin. Her gaze flicked to his, pointedly. An eyebrow quirked.

“Uh,” Anakin said eloquently. “Right. Um, Master Yoda – ”

“Surprise me, do you think you can?” he asked, somewhat cantankerously. “Subtle, you are _not_.”

“No, he is not,” Padmé agreed, gliding forward and inserting herself under Anakin's shoulder. She smiled graciously. “But I married him anyway.”

A slow blink. A small, gnarled claw made it's way down the ancient Jedi's face.

“Hmm,” he grunted tiredly. His expression turned melancholic. “In another life, fifty credits I owe to Master Windu.” He turned to head down towards the vaporator pit and its hidden cavern, where the rest of the rebellion had already settled in for the night. “Goodnight, Senator. Young Skywalker. More of the Code, try not to break while asleep I am,” he muttered distantly.

Padmé chuckled quietly, still tucked under Anakin's arm.

“He's mellowed out,” she noted as he left them, a small, stooped shadow against the gloom of early night.

“He's lost almost everything,” Anakin said. “I guess that must – change your perspective in a lot of ways.”

Padmé hmmed in reply. She tilted her head to look up at him, gaze soft. “It feels different, now that they're here, doesn't it?”

He suppressed a slight chuckle, wondering, not for the first time, if his wife was mildly Force-sensitive. She had a laser-sharp insight that surpassed that of some Jedi he knew.

“Yeah,” he answered. “It does.”

“You're troubled by it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Sit.”

He did, settling himself onto the ground with more effort than he cared to admit, legs crossed in front of him. She did the same, sun-bleached tunic ruffling in the slight breeze. She was all blue and grey in the still bleakness of night, eyes dark, hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. Lit only by the moon above them and the distant light of the hut.

“You're beautiful,” he said, before he could stop himself. It was too dark for her to catch his blush. He hoped.

“Eloquent,” she said dryly, but she was smiling. “But your distractions won't work on me, Mr. Naberrie.” She leaned forward, imploring. “Tell me what's wrong, Ani. Where did you go?”

He looked down.

“To see my mother,” he said. “I – Master Yoda wasn't invited, for the record. I'm not sure – how – ”

He trailed off, unsure. Padmé waited.

“I thought maybe it would help,” he said finally. “For a while, it felt like everything was going so well. I felt like – like we could actually pull this off and I was so grateful that we even had a chance, and now – ”

He looked up at her, helplessly. “I don't – I'm not – ”

How could he explain it without sounding like a coward? Without making it sound like he'd learned nothing?

“What if I can't face him,” he whispered into the dark. “What if I'm not – strong enough? What if, after everything, we confront him and I still – ?”

_What if I still lose you?_

“When I dream, all I see is loss,” he said desperately. “It feels like before. I want – _I want you to be safe_.”

And it was awful, it was horrible, but the seeping, creeping thought, almost more powerful than the freezing dark that loved to lurk in the corners of his heart, impossible to banish, was that they were _safe_ here, in this place that he hated, they were hidden here, they could live out the rest of their lives together, invisible under the shadow of the Empire and he hated himself for thinking it, but he'd hated himself for so long that it hardly made a difference, and if it would spare them more pain, more loss –

“My mother,” he said, taking her hand in his, “would have understood, I think. She would have wanted to fight. She would have wanted _me_ to fight, but she also knew – she knew what it was like. To feel like you don't stand a chance. To be worn down by the sand. To only be able to survive. To realize that survival is sometimes the only resistance you can afford.”

“You're right,” Padmé said, her eyes wide and dark and shining, voice soft over the occasional chirp of a night bug. “She probably would have. And I – I don't understand, Ani, and I'm – grateful. Grateful that I don't have to understand what it's like to feel that way, because I can't imagine.” She squeezed his hand in return. “But I do understand that you're afraid. That's something I don't have to imagine, because I'm afraid too. For you. For me. For Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and everyone that joined us here today. I don't want to lose them. I don't want to lose _you_.” Her voice cracked, knuckles white against his, but she continued, steely, teeth gritted, and pride welled in his heart, admiration that was fierce and bright like the suns. “But this is bigger than us. This is about the fate of the entire galaxy, and haven't we already given up so much to try and change it? We've come too far to stop now.” She smiled at him, mouth soft, grip firm. “You know I'm not much of a moisture farmer. And maybe I'm not much better at running a resistance, but if there's one thing I understand it's _power_ , Ani. And when evil takes hold of it, all it takes for that evil to win absolutely is for good people to stand back and do nothing.”

Anakin rubbed a thumb over hers, eyes stinging. “The biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps each other,” he said quietly, agreeing. The echoed words settled around his shoulders, like a part of himself that he'd almost forgotten. He sighed. “You're right.”

“And so are you,” Padmé said. “Wanting to keep the people you love safe isn't _wrong_ , Ani. There's nothing shameful about it. But,” and her face was tight now, jaw clenched, eyes pained, “I believe – I _know_ – that if we do nothing now, if we stand back and hide and let this happen, we will never be safe. Not truly.” She stood, their hands still together, and so he stood too, drew her in closer amid the stillness of Tatooine's night.

“And we'll never be free,” he said, nose buried in the top of her hair, reluctant agreement settling with a blue, stone-like finality in his heart, that certainty carving out a painful place around the krayt dragon that lived there, belching smokeless flame, clawing its way up his throat perpetually. She was right. “We've never _been_ free.”

“ _We will be_ ,” she murmured into his chest. “I know it's hard, Ani. I know it feels impossible and insane and naive. But we have strength that comes from a place that he will never understand.” She brought her arms up around his neck, body tensing as she stood on the tip of her toes to kiss him, their mouths melting together, tasting salt and sand and dust. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, fingers tangling there, eyes stinging. They stood, melded together into one for a long, desperate moment, sand swirling at their feet. She pulled away, one hand left to frame his cheek, fingers soft, face sharp with determination. “We have each other,” she said. “And as long as any one of us still stands against him, liberty will never die.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, cheeks damp. Raised a hand to cover hers where it rested on his face. Tried to force the right words out of his mouth, but knew that when he couldn't she would understand anyway.

A wistful, knowing smile graced her face. “Let's go inside,” she whispered. And she tangled their hands together and they walked towards their hut. He could see Obi-Wan's tall silhouette moving about through the window, heard the low hum of conversation and the clang of the teapot as it was set on the stove. A solitary light shone from the window, holding back the long night.

He glanced up at the stars as they walked, felt the gaping, hollow absence, the swoop of cold fear in his stomach he always felt when he thought about them too hard, when he imagined how old and how great and how far away they were. When he thought about how they too could die. How their light could so easily be extinguished. How they would one day become cold and dead and nothing.

But there were many stars in the sky, he thought for the first time in his life. And they all made the night a little less dark. Thousands of them could die and grow cold and still the sky wouldn't be without light.

Obi-Wan had reminded him once, long, long ago, that it was not only that stars would die. New stars were born too, all the time, in just as many numbers. Energy, the Force – they could not come from nothing. It had struck him as cruel and unfair, then; that something should have to die and be extinguished so that something else could be born.

He thought he understood it better now. Death and rebirth. Love and compassion. Kindness. Sacrifice. That was what kept the stars in the sky. That was what held back the dark.

Kept it in balance with the light.

He stopped at the threshold of their home, hand still clasped in Padmé's as she entered. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, but he felt unnaturally calm. Was this peace? Was this what the Jedi had sought and failed to teach him?

Was this the will of the Force? He waited for the inevitable swoop of anger, of slimy injustice, the choking fear –

– and it didn't come. He felt only a tired kind of certainty, a sad weariness that felt like Obi-Wan did sometimes in the Force. Acceptance, blue and placid and unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

“Ani?” Padmé was looking at him uncertainly, poised by the door, their hands still entangled. Obi-Wan's furrowed brow addressed him over the rim of a cup of tea, the Force warm but probing.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly and stepped over the threshold, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Just thinking about how much I'm going to miss this place,” he said dryly, smirking at the chorus of dubiously raised eyebrows he received in return. “It's not that bad!” he protested mockingly. “You know, if you ignore the pile of sand in the – ”

“ _One-person_ ,” Padmé interjected vehemently.

“ – 'fresher, the desert ants that live under the stove, the musty smell, the sand in the sheets, the sand on the floor, the food, the sand in the food, the constant threat of discovery, not to mention the sleeping arrangements – ”

“Face it, Skyguy,” Ahsoka said, striding over from her place by the stove to sling an arm around his shoulder. She smirked, incisors sharp. “You can't wait to get out of here.”

The Force pulsed warmly. He felt the slight chill of Tatooine's night on his back and turned slightly to close the door behind him, trap the light of their solitary lamp in with them. The few stars he could see from the window, stark against the rural sky, twinkled knowingly.

The calm blue wavered but did not disappear. It smothered the fear, stifled its flame but it couldn't quite keep his chin from trembling. He swallowed. He wanted them so _desperately_ to be safe again.

Obi-Wan's eyes met his, and for once he found something in them that matched his own. The brow remained furrowed; their calm blue was the same. He wondered, fleetingly, if this awful, knowing stillness was what his old master lived with every day. In any case, their acceptance, their knowledge, was now a burden shared.

He would do it. He would fulfill his purpose. He would do it because sometimes loving people meant giving something up for them. Meant _choosing_ to give something up for them. His mother would have been the first to tell him that.

( _Is it still a choice_ , something inside him whispered, _if the alternative is simply inconceivable?_ )

“Yeah, Snips,” he said, eyes stinging. He clasped her shoulder gently. “I can't wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies weakness; one lone candle is enough to hold it back.” - Matthew Stover, Revenge of the Sith
> 
>  
> 
> The world today is a little bit darker than it was before. I can't do much, but I can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's all for now! Though there is definitely more in the works. As a side note, is it painfully obvious that I have no idea about how starships work in the SW universe? I mean, aside from a vague idea. You'd think all of those Timothy Zahn novels would be good for something, but apparently my brain isn't wired that way. If anyone feels compelled to offer a primer on the jargon (or at least correct any obvious errors) I would be much obliged. I'd love to be able to offer more detail in story, but I tend to think less is more when you don't really know what you're talking about. Hopefully it doesn't detract too much away from the story, in any case. Thanks again for reading!


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